


Chemically Bonded

by crowgranger916



Series: Four Celsius: A Divergent Rewrite [1]
Category: Divergent (Movies), Divergent - All Media Types, Divergent Series - Veronica Roth
Genre: Abnegation Faction, Alternate Universe, Climate Change, Erudite Faction, Gen, Mental Health Issues, No Romance, Platonic Relationships, Politics, Post-Apocalypse, Science Fiction, Social Justice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:20:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 21,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24969586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crowgranger916/pseuds/crowgranger916
Summary: Four years prior to Tris's initiation, the Erudite faction awaits one of the most promising youngsters seen in years. Alia Rushton is a sixteen year old girl who excels in any and every intellectual task put before her. Trusted by Jeanine with classified information even before her Choosing, Alia knows she is heir to Erudite's throne. Yet her mental health is suffering much more than her ambitious side would like to admit, and she is faced with the uncomfortable fact that it is not her effort but her birth privilege that elevated her. Follow her journey into the time of canon and beyond!Set in an AU where Chicago knows what's outside the fence-- a loose central government and cities similar to itself. The "fence" in this universe is actually part of a climate-controlled dome, put over the city once humanity reached the point of no return when it came to burning fossil fuels.
Series: Four Celsius: A Divergent Rewrite [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1954063
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> (This is from April, when I originally posted on ff.net.)
> 
> Hello all! I am officially venturing into the world of Divergent fanfiction. I have been a fan for a long time, and this idea has also been lurking inside my head for nearly six years, but I have lacked the courage and/or the time to write it out. Now, due to the COVID-19 social distancing measures, I have both. My hope is that this can serve as a distraction for all of you as you (hopefully) stay safely inside your homes. 
> 
> I plan to work on this fic as my school, club and other responsibilities dictate. Updates won't be constant, but I hope you'll stick with it!
> 
> **Disclaimer #1: I do not own Divergent.  
> **  
>  Disclaimer-ish #2: PLEASE get your coronavirus info from real health officials (especially the WHO/CDC!) 
> 
> On to the story!

_Four years before Tris's Choosing Ceremony; two years before Tobias's._

\--  
The bell sounds, its gentle hum filling the packed classroom. Lunchtime- a much-needed respite for members of every faction but mine. Mrs. Schaffer, my English composition teacher, barely has time to step away from her lectern before a sea of black clothes pushes past each other, poking, prodding, and laughing their way out of the classroom. The Dauntless. The faction of thrills and risks. The faction I understand the least, and will never understand as long as I live.

Next comes a less physically aggressive but still rowdy deluge of black and white matching outfits. The self-important voices of the Candor drown out all other conversation as they filed out. I hear a particularly loud boy and girl already starting a debate on whether or not the Candor cafeteria should be renovated, with their sidekicks jumping in at random intervals to inject phrases such as "Garbage!", "No, you dimwit," or "I can't stand to look at that place again!"

High-pitched giggles replace the arguments as a large, nearly identical group of Amity girls rise from their seats, clasp hands and shuffle out. A few well-mannered boys, clad in yellow and red, follow behind, one opening the door for the group of girls. "Thanks, Braden!" one girl coos, and the others giggle in unison. Braden blushes and says, "Good day, ma'am," to my teacher before removing himself.

My cue. Along with the other Erudite members, I rise, dignified, unshaken, always prepared and determined for what came next. I remind myself to adjust my posture, to hold my head high. Mrs. Schaffer beams at a few of us, her severely-fitting blue top and dress pants matching our youthful attire only in its shade. We take our turns saying "thank you" to her as we exit the room.

I am last in the line, my fellow faction members and friends already having left for their lunch spots. They knew the drill: I talked to the teacher, then went to another teacher, and they could join me only if they found classroom eating desirable.

These talks could last from thirty seconds to twenty whole minutes, depending on both of our desires for intellectual spontaneity. At the beginning of the school year, the Abnegation always seemed unsure as to whether they could be dismissed when I was still in the room, but they eventually learned that there was no harm in it. Today, they rise in unison, making sure their chairs made no unpleasant sounds as they push them in. Then, as in a dance routine, they form a perfectly straight-single file line.

Each girl with her tight bun, each boy with his close-cropped haircut, everyone included in the mass. Once every member had joined the line, the Abnegation bow their heads and filed out one by one, going as if they had never been in the room to begin with.

Today's conversation with Mrs. Schaffer is short. I would have to talk to her for a longer time later in the week. This week. The second-to-last week of Upper Levels. I could scarcely believe it. I almost didn't want to think about it.

"I'm hoping it's acceptable if I go straight to Dr. Thompson today," I inform my teacher. "I will stay longer in a few days, perhaps on Wednesday. Do you have a meeting then?"

Light bounces off her spectacles as her body visibly relaxes. Managing unruly Dauntless and Candor is always a challenge for Erudite teachers, and I admire how Jeanine always made sure they were suitably rewarded.

"Yes, you absolutely may see her," Mrs. Schaffer replies. "I am also aware that today is an important day for you, so I will save my closing words for Wednesday." She winks, but there is a small amount of sadness in her eyes. She would be losing me, all of us, soon.

"Thank you," I return, trying to appear unruffled by the word 'closing.' So ominous to me. Decently unthreatening to her, after years of Choosing Ceremonies containing brilliant Erudites like me, all of whom had effortlessly returned to their birth faction and made it proud. "See you tomorrow, Mrs. Schaffer." I smile as I step into the hallway, then make a civilized beeline to my favorite classroom, where I spend almost all of my lunches.  
\-- 

"Hello, Alia," a familiar voice greets me as I enter a classroom marked 'Dr. Alice Thompson, Biology.' "Can you help me neutralize that? Just regular old HCl and NaOH. I'm holding tutoring hours today." Dr. Thompson's eyes meet mine, green and unusually warm. She was known to be one of the strictest and most difficult teachers in the entire school. People cursed her class. This meant, of course, that I thrived in it, and she had long been my favorite teacher.

Next to her stands a confused Candor boy with close-cropped brown hair, jabbing his finger impatiently at a worksheet. He opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. "On it. Let me know if you have anything else you need."

I cross the room, passing rows of long desks and reaching the perpendicular rows of lab benches. Two glass beakers sit on the center table, one marked "Acid Waste" and the other "Base Waste." I note with displeasure that the base waste is slightly yellow in color, meaning that someone had disregarded Dr. Thompson's instruction to discard solutions with pH buffer down the sink. Surely not an Erudite. At least that pair hadn't dumped pure HCl down the sink, or so I hope.

With speed but not haste, I move to the cupboard, taking out another beaker, a tub of baking soda, and a tiny strip of paper. Soon enough, I have completed the proper procedure: make a baking soda and water solution, mix with the acid, dip the paper in. As expected, it comes out green. Neutralized. Now no more harmful than water. I dump it down the sink and adopt a similar procedure for the other jar of waste. When that is finished, I wash all of the beakers, put them away, and turn back to my teacher.

"I need to eat lunch, Dennis," Dr. Thompson says, clearly exasperated. "Would you mind letting Alia help you? You can ask me tomorrow if you have questions." She looks expectantly at the Candor boy, gesturing to me. Blinking myself out of my stupor, I again adjust my posture and turn up my lips, trying to meet Dennis's eye invitingly.

I love tutoring. At first I had been shocked that teachers would let me, an untrained student, explain concepts they knew much better to struggling students. But they did, and they were always thankful for my willingness to help.

"Yeah, okay, bye," Dennis replies somewhat rudely. "Hope you don't fail me," he mutters under his breath as Dr. Thompson waves at us and leaves.

I hide a smirk. I always feel terrible for students who failed under an unfair or lazy teacher, but I hold a special admiration for the fact that Dr. Thompson is fair and yet never backs down in her course's rigor. My straight, brown ponytail whips around as I walk closer to Dennis. "Hi, Dennis. What do you need help with?"

Not addressing the question, he puts his notes down and stares at me judgmentally. "She said your name is Alia?"

"Yea- yes," I catch myself, always one to use formal language with strangers. "What unit is your class on?"

"I thought your name was Val," Dennis replies with a snicker. "That's what everyone in my grade calls you. Except the Erudite, I guess."

"I am not officially the valedictorian yet," I say seriously, trying to stifle a smile at the way his class refers to me. "That statistic will be reported today."

"Still, you're gonna lead Erudite when Jeanine dies," he remarks casually, as if that event would cause little more disruption than a passing rainstorm. "Or retires, I don't know."

A rush of adrenaline, of pride, runs unnoticeably through my body, and I quickly conceal it. This guy is a classic Candor. Honesty is vital to my conduct and I never lie except at times where the truth is rude. But I find the callousness of the faction rather stifling, although less irrational than the Dauntless need for escapades with a high probability of death.

"Jeanine will be in charge for at least the next twenty-five years, and I am quite pleased with that. Dennis, I was assigned to help you pass this class. I want to assist you academically. What is your question?"

"Well you're no fun," he replies jokingly, then, when my facial expression doesn't budge, he relents. "We're on diffusion and osmosion-"

"Osmosis," I correct him automatically with a chiding look.

"Whatever. And I can't for the life of me understand this thingy called a-" he peers at his notes, "concentration gradient. What the hell is all this particle nonsense supposed to mean? Why does she say it's so important?" He rolls his eyes, scoffing.

Ignoring his antics- which I knew Dr. Thompson must have regularly faced, the poor woman- I launch straight into a layman's explanation of a concentration gradient. "So say you have two cafeteria lines, each with one worker serving the night's meal," I begin, drawing a hasty representation of two vats of food on the board. "One of the lines has, say, 20 people, and you originally stood on it when you came in. Another one has three people. Of course, the distance from the front to the back of the cafeteria is the same for both lines. Will you switch lines?"

Dennis looks as if he were watching paint dry. "Yeah, sure," he replies.

"Great. Now watch. I'm going to explain how this works with particles."

For a good ten minutes, my mind becomes a whirlwind of effortless scientific energy. I draw more diagrams, clarify Dennis' questions, and ask him a few questions of my own to further his understanding of the topic. Dr. Thompson re-enters the room with a knowing smile, mouthing a silent "thank you" to me behind Dennis' back. My lips turn up in reply.

At long last, Dennis's brow starts to unfurrow, and he asks fewer abrupt questions. I wrap up my last explanation, and he looks up at me, his face displaying a bit of relief. "Okay, I think I kinda get it now," he intones, "uh, thanks, Alia. Hopefully I can pass the next exam."

Dr. Thompson chimes in from the corner, her all-encompassing positivity filling the room. "You can do it! Study, study, study!" She smiles at Dennis, who manages a weak one in return.

"See you tomorrow," he says sheepishly, his white shirt flowing out behind him as he turns his back and leaves the room.

Alone at last, I stride automatically over to Dr. Thompson's desk. Our eyes meet, the knowledge of a few years flowing between them. Not one to beat around the bush, she puts aside the tests she had been grading and gives me a sober look. "So. 2 days until the aptitude test. Are you ready?"

As much as we'd been together over the past month, neither one of us had broached the subject of the Choosing. It was the elephant in the room, the moment when I would be ripped away from Upper Levels, away from her and Mrs. Schaffer and my "team" of supporters, and put through the grueling ritual of Erudite initiation. We both knew I'd make it through without being cut and rise through the ranks of ordinary Erudite to become one of the most successful new members of my generation.

But I had been an ordinary student for so long that I felt some trepidation about being put with solely Erudite initiates and unfamiliar initiation instructors. I wasn't allowed to communicate with my former teachers for the duration of initiation; faction rule.

I was sure that Dr. Thompson wondered if she'd ever hear from me again. I would work quickly to clear away her disappointment.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I reassure her, confident and standoffish, the perfect picture of a top Erudite. "And you can bet I'll be throwing a party for everyone in Upper Levels when I'm done."

The uncertainty leaves her face, and she smiles at me again. "Well, I wouldn't want to keep you from seeing the rankings. Do you want to talk again Thursday?"

The rankings! My heart starts to pound again, and I stand up quickly, my chair scraping the floor. "Yes, I will drop by then. Also, don't worry about Friday." I wink at her, letting her know that regardless of the test, Erudite is my home. Always had been, always would be…

As I make my way to the door, she shows a rare dose of candor. "I'm going to miss you. Teaching you… well, you know this, but… it's been one of the greatest pleasures of my life. I can't wait to see what your future brings, Alia."

The ambrosia of pleasure fills me once again. I blink away tears. "Thank you. I have to write to you. I can't possibly express my gratefulness in person."

"You do that. But run along now. Good luck on the rankings." She glances fondly at me one last time, then turns away.

I exit the room, running like a Dauntless as I approach the rankings.  
\-- A crowd of fellow Erudite gather eagerly around a hallway bulletin board, where a long ream of paper had been posted. A few Candor and Amity members mingle among us. It contains the names of everyone in our class, and their official class rank. The last one ever- for everyone not choosing Erudite, that was.

My faction members part for me as I excuse myself through the crowd. Their knowing grins could mean only one thing.

My 6'1 height allows me to be eye-to-eye with the very top of the board. I survey the top 10 students by rank, all but one of them Erudite. I take my time, savoring the hope I feel when my name isn't in the fourth ranked spot, nor the third, nor the second…

And there it is. A very familiar name. At the tippy top of the board.

_Alia Rushton_

I feel the collective strength of the hardworking minds behind me. I feel them all under me, working with me, yet understanding my mind's superior strength. All of the hard work had paid off. Every night of perfecting homework, every minute of flipping through flashcards, every minute of practicing my writing, my math. All worth it. Dr. Thompson was right: I knew my place. I knew who I was meant to become.

I let out a whoop, my feet excitedly leaving the ground as I propel myself into the air in triumph.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alia takes her aptitude test and we are introduced to her friends from Erudite.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone continues to stay safe and healthy. My thoughts are with all of our healthcare workers, as well as families who have lost someone due to COVID-19. That is a tragedy beyond words. I am sorry for how difficult of a time this is.
> 
> On a lighter note, I wanted to inform you all that since I have a lot of OCs in this story, I’m also going to make some changes to the pre-war setup of Divergent society. You will see them throughout the story, but I want to mention one significant change below before I get started.
> 
> Full confession: I did not enjoy Allegiant. Loved the first two books and Four, but not that one. I found a detailed review on Amazon with all of its shortcomings, which I agree with, and I’m planning to address a major one here, namely: why does no one dare to venture outside the city or question what’s out there before the time of Allegiant? Since humans are naturally curious, that was a plot hole in canon.
> 
> I do not have to reach very far into my imagination to come up with an answer to this question: climate change is a threat that grows larger every day, and Roth mentions Lake Michigan turning into a marsh, which seems to fit with an environmental plotline. So I will tell you up front that the answers behind the fence in my story have a lot to do with the fallout of our century’s climate crisis. Alia will tell the rest.
> 
> Enough from me… enjoy!

The day is finally here. The day of the aptitude test. My Upper Levels graduating class is seated by faction in the cafeteria, awaiting the moment where one of the test administration volunteers calls their name. 

As the Amity belt out a song in unison and the black-clad Dauntless push and shove each other on the cafeteria benches, my faction sits in a civilized formation, each one of us accompanied by our school materials, which we are now debating what to do with. I look up and down our table. Many of these people are my friends, and I dislike making enemies. But my social life is different from some. Rather than gathering in large groups as the Amity or even some Erudite do, I spend time at different intervals with one or two people only. Even here, when we are all sitting together, there are walls between my friends, walls made of unique jokes and shared memories, but walls that can always be broken down for the sake of intellectual spirit. 

I listen to the names called by the Abnegation woman at the front of the cafeteria, watching as each of my classmates disappears into their own testing room. I make it a point to observe and mentally record each person’s expression before and after their test, seeing as I know the name of everyone in my class. Even some of the rowdiest Dauntless look a little nervous. I can understand why. The aptitude test is a strange, unpredictable ritual to every sixteen year old in this room but myself.   
My friend Bassim, tall, athletic, neat and curly-haired, snaps me out of my reverie with a laugh. He appears to be flipping through his calculus notes, marking some random problem sets to discard and others to keep. Next to him is Skylar, a serious boy with glasses and long hair neatly tied into a low bun. Skylar and I have always been known as the strongest writers in the grade, while Bassim excels in math. I have no doubt that both of them will be choosing Erudite tomorrow.

Next to me sits Kyra, a whole foot shorter than me but a close friend nonetheless. She’s currently engaging me in discussion about how her presentation in English class went, celebrating the fact that she earned an A on it. On her other side is Taylor, no taller than Kyra but quite a bit more cerebral. Taylor gets points off for inadequate elaboration in her writing, but her quiet maturity has always made her a teacher’s favorite. As is customary for her, Taylor is buried in a book, her glasses hanging off the end of her nose. 

“I wish it was more like public speaking, where you can just write a speech about whatever you want,” Kyra remarks to me. “I mean, I just wasn’t interested in this topic. It was so random. But thank you for helping me. I’m hoping it was actually good and he wasn’t just being nice.”

“Of course,” I say reassuringly, giving her a smile. “I’m sure it was excellent. And, if it wasn’t, you don’t have to deal with it anymore!”

Kyra definitely held intelligence beneath her grades, but starting at Upper Levels, she had begun to develop a distaste for school. She found it very restrictive and tedious, and it was suppressing the true passion she’d discovered: art. A gifted photographer, she also engaged in drawing, though never competitively. 

I wasn’t too concerned about Bassim, Skylar or Taylor transferring out; Kyra was another story. Between the fact that she had a sister at Amity who’d fulfilled her dream of becoming a professional dancer and her lack of fondness for rigid learning, I could easily see Kyra succeeding in an environment outside of Erudite. She’d probably pass our initiation, but would she enjoy it?

“From Erudite, Kyra Brussels and Bassim Sharma,” calls the woman at the front of the cafeteria. Kyra looks a bit nervous as she rises from her seat. I offer her a reassuring grin. “Good luck, Kyra,” I say, and she nods, walking away.

“You’re not going to wish me farewell, Alia?” Bassim jokes, but he was enough of a rule-follower that he didn’t linger in time for me to retort. My friends disappear behind their respective doors, their future laid out in that small space. 

“Are you prepared?” Skylar asks me quietly, his perceptive eyes resting on mine. 

“Chapter 57 of the Adolescent Guidelines Compilation states that it is not possible for one to prepare for the aptitude test. You are aware of that fact,” I tell him with a slight smirk. 

“It is obvious, Alia, that my intention was not to see if you had a secret test preparation strategy,” Skylar replies formally. “But tomorrow is an integral day, not just in terms of faction but in terms of how our generation will interact politically going forward.”

He’s implying that I am next in line to lead Erudite, just as Dennis did, only in a much more polite manner. He’s not wrong. But it is not as if tomorrow and only tomorrow will I feel the weight of all that I am expected to take on. I have been preparing enthusiastically for it my whole life.

“I am ready for all that my future will bring. The hardest aspect is deciding what I will study following Upper Levels. I’m considering double majoring because I don’t feel it’s realistic for me to relinquish my passion for either the sciences or the humanities in favor of the other.”

Skylar nods. “I am sure we will receive further assistance in making that choice.”

It seems like a very short period of time before Kyra and Bassim return, Bassim looking satisfied and Kyra a bit shy. I’d have to reassure her later about transferring, but I am waiting for my name to be called first. 

The woman at the front rattles off two names from every faction, then, “From Erudite, Skylar Tiffen and Alia Rushton.”

“Best of luck,” Kyra whispers softly to me as Skylar and I approach the doors. 

\--  
Nothing inside the small room surprises me, but seeing as Jeanine instructed me to feign unfamiliarity, I do so. I turn to the aptitude test volunteer with a questioning look. My first thought about her is that she is rather attractive, with long, brown hair flowing down her shoulders. Her Abnegation-gray dress helps her look a bit more ordinary, though.

“Hello. My name is Natalie.” She greets me with a warm smile and gestures towards the sole chair in the room, which bears resemblance to a dentist’s chair except that the headrest is metal and boxy, with electrodes attached. “Please have a seat.”

“What does this do?” I ask her, trying to appear curious as my faction dictates. “In what format is this test administered?” Natalie looks unsurprised as she secures the electrodes to my forehead, then to hers, and then to a computer next to her. I stare at myself in one of the many mirrors, my blue shirt smoothed out and my expression inquisitive but not fearful.

“I can’t tell you that,” says Natalie soothingly, handing me a small vial of clear liquid as I sit down. “It doesn’t hurt, though. Please drink this; it will begin the test.”

Not one to disobey orders, I raise the vial to my lips. It helps knowing exactly what will happen, seeing as my greatest fear is that of the unknown. I have little to be afraid of here: the serum in the vial contains a microtransmitter approximately 200 nanometers wide. The transmitter will wirelessly connect to the room’s computer, preparing itself to share the combination of electrical signals inside my brain. Natalie will be able to see the image of the simulation induced through the serum’s other ingredients, which stimulate many parts of the brain that I lack the time to name. 

There are only two questions I truly have: what will the simulation scenario be, and will I be aware during it?

It is true that Jeanine shared quite a bit with me, yes, but she drew the line at revealing the exact details of her signature project to someone underage. “It is not that you would fail to understand, Alia,” she had told me factually, “it is that I still wish to observe your response to the simulation as it is delivered, even though I can reasonably predict the outcome with a small margin of error.” As a result, I am in the dark as to what image my brain will project. 

The second question is far more ominous. If I am aware…

I have no more time to think. I plunge into the simulation rapidly, both of my questions about to be answered. 

\--

My consciousness surfaces in the same cafeteria that I just departed. The room is empty, except for two items on the table behind me. Not even a second passes before I hear a familiar, detached voice. “Choose.”

The items are very ordinary: a sharp knife, and a block of cheddar cheese. I quickly analyze the benefits and costs of my choice. The knife might be useful if I am about to face an attacker, but I am too paranoid of my lack of physical skill. Plus, even though I’m not Amity, I have a strong dislike and fear of violence. 

The cheese, on the other hand, represents one of the vital ingredients to human life: an energy source. It is far more logical to choose that. I pick it up.

Suddenly, I hear shouting from behind me. I whirl around to see two unfamiliar people, a nondescript boy and girl, hurling insults at each other without any thought whatsoever. A third glimmer of color catches my eye: in the corner of the room sits a hunched-over, sad-looking girl. She keeps her head bent and seems to take no notice of the argument. 

Be logical, I tell myself sternly. I ignore the girl and instead approach the two shouting individuals, listening to their words as best I can. Once I have an idea of the situation, I jump in.

“You do realize,” I shout, my voice climbing over theirs, “that it is completely illogical to be arguing about whether your dog has rabies when you can simply look up its vaccination records.”

“But we lost them!” the boy protests, throwing his hands up in the air, while the girl interjects, “No, you lost them!”

“Call the vet, then. If they somehow have misplaced all of the records, the dog can be sedated and tested in the lab. It’s not that difficult,” I insist, annoyed at how ignorant these people are. 

The boy’s face finally relaxes. “Okay, okay. I’ll do that. Thanks.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket, but even as he does that, his face begins to fade.

\---

I come back up with a start in the testing room, only surprised for a split second by the equipment. My eyes snap up to Natalie, who gives me a pleasant look, her face betraying none of her deeper thoughts, if she was even having any.

“Congratulations,” she says, “your result is Erudite.”

I nod, unsurprised, and thank her briefly. It’s her turn to be surprised-- Erudite courtesy toward the Abnegation is quickly disappearing. 

The part that I am surprised by is that my Erudite result was elicited by little more than an expression of simple logic. I had expected a riddle or math problem, or perhaps even a practical quest-like scenario, something more difficult than what I had faced. But then I remind myself of Jeanine’s intelligence: she knew that it would be impossible for anyone from another faction to solve some of the problems that Erudite-borns are trained to, and she desires to encourage everyone with mental fitness to transfer to our faction.

“You are dismissed. Best of luck tomorrow,” Natalie offers, opening the door back to the cafeteria. I nod at her once again and exit the room.

The thought then returns to my head. Simulation awareness! Was I aware during the test? I went through it so quickly, I could barely tell.

It did seem as if I were aware that going to the girl would be very Abnegation of me, breaking up the argument and asking the two to calm down would have given me an Amity result, and talking about finding the truth would have led straight to a Candor one. I made my choices knowing they corresponded with my faction, just as I did in real life. Perplexingly, I wasn’t sure if that indicated awareness or not.

I do know that I failed to resist the simulation in any way, as I generally see little point in breaking the rules. I enjoy asking questions, but not to the point where I irritate someone. 

I decide that I was likely not aware, which is desirable given Jeanine’s sour expression of distaste whenever she talks about them. I’ve always wished that I could know the scientific difference between the aware and unaware, or perform experiments on them, but asking Jeanine for such favors is out of the question until I pass initiation at the top of my class.

\---  
Skylar emerges from his testing room only a few seconds after I leave mine. He gives me a questioning look, and I only smirk and nod once. He returns the smirk, and we both congregate around my table of friends. Not wasting any time, I occupy myself by pulling out my calculus textbook, which Bassim eyes with something like adoration. 

Despite my valedictorian status, I am not the strongest in my grade at math. That honor would go to my friend, who knew from an early age that he wanted to pursue a career in pure mathematics. The second-strongest student in math is Kimberly, a polished, popular girl sitting a few paces away from me. We never became compatriots in any sense but an academic one, though I respect her strong desire to help the city's populace by becoming a cardiac surgeon. 

Thankfully, I am third-best in math. Taylor and Kyra tease me about my subjectively “poor performance” on a regular basis. They fail to realize the implications of life in Erudite with a hyper-advanced mind. With great power, it is said, comes great responsibility.

Soon enough, it is time to depart school for the day. We are reminded not to share our results, which is a wise guideline, I think, but probably not one that the Candor ever follow. Among my group of friends, it would be pointless to share results-- we are all intelligent enough to infer who is part of the Erudite-result majority and who is not.

I wave farewell to Bassim and Skylar in the parking lot of the school. As the Dauntless jump on a train and Abnegation board buses, we Erudite commute home in solar-powered, self-driving cars. I admire my faction’s adherence to the motto “knowledge leads to prosperity,” but sometimes, I think of how unnecessary it is for me to have a car when the factionless children my age lack even basic biological needs. Of course, this opinion is rather unpopular in my faction, so it takes much coaxing for me to voice it out loud.

Taylor, Kyra and I climb into my car, broaching our usual subjects, partially in denial that today is the final day for our friendship trio. I smile in amusement as I recall Kyra’s initial reaction on the day I changed my car’s settings.

I press one of the many buttons on the dashboard, and the car greets me with its usual, “Bienvenue, Alia.” That day, I had changed the language of the car’s voice-recognition system, as had been recommended through the online Erudite Forum, to give myself more practice on my French accent. My teacher, Madame Rose, always ranted and raved about my language abilities, but I found my accent rudimentary at best. 

“You seriously are speaking to your car in French now?” Kyra had demanded jokingly. “Gosh, what an overachiever you are.”  
“Right, but now I’m not going to get a grade less than a hundred on any speaking assignments,” I’d countered, earning myself a mock glare.

My friends had long gotten over that change, though, and were now ignoring my navigational plotting.

“Qu’est-ce que tu voudrais que je fasse ?” the smooth female car voice continues, asking me what I want to do.

“Suivez la route du retour du lycée,” I reply, trying to imitate the teenage girls I’d listened to in videos from Marseille, the city where Madame Rose had grown up. Without missing a beat, the car began to reverse, pulling itself out of the parking space, and I relaxed against the seat as I laughed along with my friends. It would now follow the preprogrammed return route from school, first passing Taylor’s house, then Kyra’s, and finally mine.

No other faction but ours really held foreign languages in high regard. But then, we were the only faction to harbor a Department of International Affairs, a committee that worked on diplomacy and promoted tourism in our city. Chicago had been one of the first climate-controlled cities following the fallout of the 21st century climate crisis, and foreign citizens were often curious in regards to our history. Well, foreign citizens from allied nations with ours, anyway. We learned very little about enemy nations other than that they had failed to adopt the policies of peace established by our nation’s leaders in the 22nd century. 

France was a prosperous ally of ours, so there would always be demand for those who could speak their language well. I had considered applying to work at the DIA multiple times, but Skylar was right-- I excelled in too many subjects to truly determine which I wanted to pursue.

My friends’ voices startle me a little as I come out of my thought process. I try my best to restrain my thoughts. Adrenaline courses through my veins. These next 24 hours were to be a time for extroversion and action, not reflection. I was getting ready to become an initiate, and there were three groups who needed me at my best: my friends, my family, and my faction. I wouldn’t let them down.

I keep one careful eye on the road, ensuring the car’s system wouldn’t malfunction, as I savor my last car ride home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes… for some reason I’m terrible at deciding whether I want to write in past or present tense! I have decided on present, but I apologize that the last chapter is in past. I will fix that soon. Sorry for the long wait; I hope to have the next chapter posted a little sooner. Stay safe and please review!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alia says a pre-Choosing farewell to her two best friends, and then reports to the Erudite Advisory Council meeting. She officially serves as the scribe on the council, but was really invited by Jeanine to observe how the faction is run in preparation for her future. A familiar virus is labeled as still being around because, at the time of writing, I needed to expel my frustration with people who are ignoring health guidelines. If you couldn't tell, this entire story is a coping mechanism for my frustration with the world!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t have a ton of comments this time around, so please let me know through a review if you have any clarifying questions you’d like me to answer. Have a safe week, everyone!

As the car exits the expressway connecting the decent amount of distance between the Upper School and the Erudite sector, I see Taylor giving me a significant look in the rearview mirror. We are still speculating about who will dominate the class rankings among the group of Erudite a year behind us, but I can tell Taylor knows as well as I do that we must address the obvious soon enough.

Kyra’s straight, raven-colored hair smooths out over her shoulders as she anxiously brushes it aside, trying to hide her anxiety. I am not in Candor, but I decide to be direct and gather Kyra’s thoughts-- the transition away from childhood will be easier for us that way. 

“Kyra,” I start seriously, in a businesslike tone I typically only used when presenting to the class. “You know that Taylor and I love you as much as we love this faction. But we know that your aptitude test result has a significant probability of differing from ours.” I glance at Taylor, allowing her to jump in.

“No matter what choice you make tomorrow, we want you to be happy. I know it’s a lot to decide between. You have us, your family, your faction, your potential in other factions. But know that no matter your choice, we won’t judge you,” Taylor says, looking Kyra straight in the eyes, a departure from her usual lightheartedness. I always joked with Kyra that Taylor was half-adult (mostly at school), half little kid (mostly with us), but here was the small part of her that understood how teenage brains worked. 

“This faction was founded by those who blamed ignorance for the faults of our ancestors,” I add, reverting back to my default strategy: pure logic. “To ignore your own thoughts and beliefs is nearly as harmful as to ignore facts. Your choice tomorrow will impact the rest of your life; do not forget that.” I feel the weight of my own words as I glance at my friend.

Kyra looks down a little, still a bit ashamed to admit her desire to transfer. It is not a particularly comfortable topic in our society, after all. Yet our laws also dictate that choice of faction should be made independently, away from the judgment of family and peers. This was a way for Taylor and I to follow the guidelines laid out by our faction.

“Thank you, guys,” Kyra says, managing a weak smile. She doesn’t mention her aptitude test results or her desires, in keeping with the rules as we are. “I’m really grateful to have you as friends. That’s all I’ll say.”

Taylor and I smile back as the car voice states that the destination is approaching. I watch as the car slows to a stop in front of a luscious, light-blue, three-story house at the end of a cul-de-sac. Taylor’s parents hold prominent positions within the faction, so she has known little more than luxury her whole life. Part of the reason I’m drawn to Taylor is her dedication to self-improvement and modesty. Many upper-class Erudite forget that those are prominent values of our faction, in addition to the overused confidence. 

“Let’s get out of the car and hug, since we’re not going to have the space to do that at the Hub tomorrow,” I suggest. I command the car to shut down as it parks, and we hop out of the backseat. We stop halfway down the path to Taylor’s front door and Kyra wraps her arms around my waist first, with Taylor joining in shortly after. It is a slightly awkward arrangement due to the difference in our heights, but it matters little to me at the moment.

“It’s been a great sixteen years,” Kyra murmurs happily, speaking for the three of us. I nod. 

After a time that seems infinitely long yet inadequately short, we separate. Taylor glances at her house a bit apprehensively, but opens her mouth to say a farewell anyway. My heart pounds once in my chest and I interrupt.

“Wait a minute, Taylor,” I tell her, beckoning with my forearm. “There’s one last thing I want to tell you.”

My friends’ eyes widen. As a role-model young faction member, I normally make a conscious effort to avoid using the words “thing” or “stuff.” Those terms are vague generalizations and horribly basic portions of the vernacular, in my opinion. But the use of that informality works its magic, and Taylor approaches us again.

“I want you both to know,” I begin…

\--  
After Taylor enters her house, Kyra and I walk back to the car, and it continues its route to Kyra’s similarly large dwelling. We hug again, just the two of us. Erudite is not particularly affectionate, but seeing as separation of friends is known to every member as a source of pain dating back to mammal evolution, I don’t believe that we will be punished for it today.

As Kyra disappears into her own foyer, the car pulls away from her driveway one last time. It makes its way toward Central, our headquarters, a large, glass building. Our intellectual powerhouse. Thankfully, my house is located within walking distance of it. 

My car pulls into my garage, and I stay behind for a few seconds in order to convert the car’s language settings back to English. Initiates are not allowed to ride in cars-- it would be seen as a waste of time when the whole process is based at Central-- and my parents know not a single word of French, so I need to ensure that they will be able to utilize the car.

It feels odd to be leaving this house tomorrow, but I am generally ready. I have a loving relationship with my parents, yet I had grown the usual sense of teenage embarrassment in regards to their praise. I was looking to establish myself as my own person, gain the approval of those outside our home. I could not say that my father was as ready to give me up to initiation as I was to bade him farewell.

I walk through the door in the garage and find myself in the kitchen. Neither of my parents appears immediately, but I hear my dad placing clothes in the dryer a few rooms away. Trying to keep the desperation out of my voice, I yell, “I’m reporting to Central! I’ll be back in two hours to have dinner!”

“Okay,” I hear my dad shout back. “Make sure to come back. It’s important we spend time together tonight.”

His stern, hazel eyes meet mine as he appears in the doorway, his frame filling it. He is one of the tallest men in the faction. I nod my assent. “I will. The others should understand. See you soon,” I say to him, giving him a short wave and stepping right back out of the house. 

I commence the familiar walk to Central on autopilot, blindly counting the perfected cracks in the sidewalk and the number of polished, mid-sized ranch houses on the block. It is no secret that out of all the faction residential areas, the dwellings of Erudite are the newest and cleanest.

I reach the main doors. They are constantly open as members of the faction stream in and out, many having phone conversations or walking hurriedly. We take productivity very seriously here.

After I thank an older woman for holding open the door, I walk into the lobby. The familiar, long portrait of Jeanine Matthews greets me on one side of it. Next to her, I see the soundproof doors leading to the main library, where my compatriots are busy reading books or laptops. I approach the entry desk at the opposite side of the library, where visitors to the private levels must identify themselves for security purposes. 

“Alia Rushton, here for the Advisory Council meeting,” I say briskly to the middle-aged man sitting there. I slide my ID card across the desk to him, and he takes it and scans it into his computer.   
“Have a good evening,” he says as he slides the card back to me. I nod briefly at him before walking to the back of the lobby, where six elevators await. I board the elevator with three others, all of whom seem to be going to the same floor. “Excuse me,” I tell them politely after one of the men selects their floor, making my way up to the sea of buttons. I take a key out of my purse, put it in a slot next to a level marked 16, turn the key, and press the button shortly after. I watch the men take in my young appearance combined with the key. Their eyes widen. Rarely do teenagers obtain access to Jeanine Matthews’ office level.

I smile slightly at them, and a second man furrows his brow. “Are you the dependent of this year’s class who ranked first in IQ?”

“Yes, sir,” I reply rather modestly. 

His eyebrows travel upward. “Best of luck in initiation. I am sure that you will have few difficulties,” he says, the others nodding in agreement. 

“Your support is appreciated,” I reaffirm, a phrase that I have grown used to using with those observant members of my faction who can identify me. Jeanine had given me counsel on these moments, and I followed it. After all, her young adulthood was much the same-- she was a faction celebrity, if you can call it that, from the day of her first IQ test.

The man who’d spoken bows his head at me as the elevator doors swing open, revealing a floor lined with offices. “Have a pleasant evening,” he remarks, still appearing a bit awed.

I am alone when the doors swing shut. My stomach sinks as the elevator travels upward, its speedy trajectory countering gravity. Eventually, the same computer voice found in my car speaks: “Level Sixteen. Restricted.” The doors part once again, opening up to a much quieter and nondescript floor. I step out and turn right, making my way to the meeting. I am here early, but with Jeanine, it is never wise to appear delayed.

The meeting room is down the hallway, the light of the setting sun bouncing off its clear glass windows, since glass absorbs no light. I make my way past the rows of leather chairs surrounding the table, steering clear of the seat at its head. My seat is in the back, but that is to be expected for a mere dependent. I sit down and wait for my fellow council members to arrive. 

Most of the adults nod at me briefly before becoming preoccupied in unearthing their devices. Only one of them locks eyes with me and approaches my seat as soon as she enters. Dr. Thompson winks at me and takes the chair on my right side. “Alia. Did your aptitude test play out as expected?”

I can’t help the contagious smile that comes to my face when I see her, one of my greatest role models. I nod immediately. “Yes, it did. Did Dennis appear flustered on today’s exam?”

Dr. Thompson gives me a mock reprimanding look. “I am not allowed to divulge that information,” she says, projecting her voice. “He appeared a bit more oriented than he did the day you were there,” she continues quietly in a small gesture of praise. 

I laugh. “I am certainly glad to hear that.”

The two of us lapse into a comfortable silence, knowing it would be unwise to discuss any details of the Choosing. We each set up our papers and technology as our fellow members filter in, their blue clothing blending with the clear walls. Everyone sits in silence until our leader arrives.

\---

Her heels click against the linoleum floor as she enters, her self-assured aura already filling up the room. Though we are not soldiers and do not stand for Jeanine, we all avert her eyes from her as a gesture of respect before she is ready to start the meeting. 

“Good evening, everyone,” Jeanine begins, her emotionless voice carrying easily to the spot where Dr. Thompson and I sit. “This is the May 5 meeting of the Erudite Advisory Council, beginning at 17 hours.”

The computer in front of me begins displaying information. My job during these meetings is to be a scribe-- let the speech-to-text program record the meeting and correct errors only when necessary. A message appears on the screen, reading, “Jeanine Matthews:” followed by the words she had just spoken.

While my role seemed rudimentary at first glance, I sat on the Advisory Council for training purposes. Jeanine had recruited me two years ago, following our Middle Levels assessments that pegged me as the member with the greatest intellect seen in the past seven years. I was expected to stay quiet during the main briefing, but Jeanine would then assign me at her will to any one of the breakout groups, and at that point I would be required to contribute.

“Let us commence with the Medical Division. Please deliver your briefing, Dr. Ramos,” Jeanine says, her blond hair turning slightly to face a tan-skinned man a few seats away from her.

Dr. Ramos clears his throat. “Thank you, Ms. Matthews. As you all know, the Dauntless member testing positive for SARS-CoV-2 is set to be released from the Epidemic Containment Unit on Monday. Now that his illness is in the late stages, we were able to procure truth serum from Candor and question him. As we suspected, he did not receive his mandated vaccination, and appears to have started an anti-vaccination movement among his small group of friends, who have displayed no symptoms but remain in isolation.”

Internally, I groan, and Dr. Thompson’s expression mirrors mine. Dauntless members often found ridiculous excuses to avoid medical preventative measures or treatments, claiming that facing nature would only prove their bravery. Anti-vaccination movements often resulted in small outbreaks of a few extremely contagious viruses, including this one. COVID-19 had been responsible for a pandemic that shut down the twenty-first century economy, several years before the worst effects of the climate crisis made themselves known.

The virus was one of the many issues that our faction had under control, but ironically, the most disruptive threats to this stability were our protectors, the Dauntless. Jeanine had formed a crucial alliance with their most powerful leader, Max, but she knew that disdain for the Dauntless was in every Erudite heart.

Jeanine and Dr. Ramos go back and forth in a series of questions and answers, and eventually Jeanine tells Dr. Ramos that his breakout group is tasked with discussing methods of initiating a pro-vaccine campaign in Dauntless headquarters. My computer continues to log the dialogue, and I edit misheard words every once in a while. 

The next division to speak, the Labor Division, also references Dauntless. “We have seen an uptick in escape dares,” the head of the division, a no-nonsense older woman, says. “It is becoming clear that more helicopter pilots are required to meet this challenge. As she speaks, the virtual board at the front of the room lights up with statistical charts. 

Escape dares typically occurred before Choosing Day. Despite the many warnings associated with going outside the fence, including threats of radioactive waste and polluted water sources, many Dauntless couples would attempt to slip past the fence guards and survive outside the climate control of our city. 

The Erudite-Dauntless policy in regards to that violation is to let a time period of three days elapse before sending an Erudite hospital helicopter to retrieve the foolish youngsters. That way, the Dauntless would see that the wasteland outside the city is dangerous to human lives, regardless of bravery. They would get medical attention and be required to make a public appearance denouncing the dares afterwards.

The meeting proceeds as such, with Jeanine interrogating each division after their briefing. I admire the thorough, demanding demeanor of women like her and Dr. Thompson. I feel a strong compulsion to follow their lead.

At last, the divisions are called upon to meet separately. Dr. Thompson and I both give Jeanine a questioning look. I can tell that Dr. Thompson hopes I will be assigned to the Educational Division alongside her. But Jeanine looks at me with rare intensity, her dark blue eyes boring into mine. “Alia,” she starts, “I would like for us to meet in my office.”

I nod assent, hiding the intimidation I feel. I possess her intelligence and she knows it, so there is no reason for me to act overly modest in front of her. I rise from my seat and give a short smile to Dr. Thompson before following Jeanine’s heels into the hallway.

I understand that she desires to deliver me parting words before tomorrow’s ceremony. I will not attend Advisory Council meetings or visit her personally during initiation. There are rules against favoritism during the process, which I can tell she takes quite seriously.

Stepping into her office and taking the straight-backed chair across from my desk, I glance at her expectantly, the usual sense of admiration filling my chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t get to the Choosing in this chapter, but it will be in the next! I hope that I explained my alterations to the atmosphere of the city well enough. Stay safe!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeanine and Alia briefly talk before the Choosing. The next day, Alia and her friends make their choices!

Jeanine appraises me thoroughly, her eyes traveling up and down my body, reading my body language in a way that only a born psychologist could. Without fully realizing it, I am doing the same. We are natural observers.

“First and foremost,” Jeanine begins, pushing her chair closer to the desk, “Your response to the simulation was elegant and rapid, as expected. Well done.” I do not see warmth in her eyes, but I have gotten used to it. Unlike most, her cold eyes do not necessarily correlate to animosity. 

“Thank you,” I respond, “I did not find it extremely difficult.” I refrain from asking her any questions about awareness, if it appeared that anyone in my graduating class was aware today. I do not wish to irritate her further, not on such a pivotal day.

She nods. “If this city were filled with individuals harboring your intellectual capacity, the test would not appear so elementary. One of my research colleagues, Dr. Nester, performed a statistical analysis of my original design, and she concluded that the number of Erudite results would lead to an initiate class seventy percent under capacity.” Her lips turn up slightly. “So, we must make do with differentiating the elite during initiation.”

My expression becomes even more appreciative. “I have no doubt that this year’s initiation will prove a success. Many of my peers are clearly on the path to groundbreaking discoveries.”

“Much as I have enjoyed monitoring the progress of your peers, I wish to talk specifically with you.” I straighten up, knowing the pleasantries are now over. “I will remind you that we will not be holding any private meetings, nor will you report to Advisory Council sessions, during initiation. You will not indicate that we have a close relationship in any way. And you will certainly not visit Alice Thompson. I will be discussing this with her as well.”

“Of course, Ms. Matthews,” I reply, already familiar with these procedures.

“I somewhat regret this, but you are also forbidden from entering any laboratories aside from when you complete initiation visits and tasks. I will be changing your identification from Level Two access to Level Eight.” Level Eight, I well knew, was a very limited level of electronic access mainly reserved for initiates, who spent most of their time in the Central classrooms or library.

I nod assent. 

“I also expect to be hearing positive reports from your instructors, and you will report any cheating you observe straight to your lead mentor. This may go without saying, but you are a model for your initiation class. You cannot show any weakness or resistance. Do I make myself clear?” Jeanine’s blue eyes fixate on mine.

“Yes, ma’am,” I say, not revealing any trace of fear.

Her body relaxes a bit. “Good. I personally observed surveillance of the cafeteria before the aptitude test, and I heard you talking to Mr. Tiffen about your indecision on a discipline of study. I agree with your caution; it is not necessary for the public to be following your desires. However, I will ask you: what are your high-level prospects at this point in time?”

I smile a bit, glad Jeanine is taking the time to let me speak. I never expect her to, of course, as she is a faction leader -- but Dr. Thompson is always much more interested in hearing my ideas, so it is no wonder that I open up to her more often than Jeanine. “I am most definitely considering International Relations alongside a science, perhaps your graduate field.”

Jeanine’s Master’s degree had been in neuroscience research. She had planned to go on and pursue a PhD, like Dr. Thompson had in molecular biology, but those plans were derailed when I was four years old. Norton, the previous Erudite leader, had fallen victim to a sudden heart attack, and as Jeanine had the second-highest IQ, she had immediately replaced him. This left inadequate time to write a dissertation, even though Jeanine still conducts neuroscience studies when she can.

“Those are viable options, although I must admit I am curious as to how well you will perform in organic chemistry.” For the first time this meeting, Jeanine’s eyes reflect a sense of amusement. Organic chem was such a difficult subject that those who enjoyed it and had talent in it were revered among the Erudite.

“I am certainly eager to find out,” I reply, smiling myself.

Jeanine nods, meeting my eyes again. “I am truly looking forward to the months to come,” she tells me. “Remember: intellectual superiority requires a great sense of discipline and resilience, but the success people like you and I enjoy is far beyond the average person’s dreams, and rightly so.” Her dress unwrinkles as she stands. “You are dismissed. I would not want to deprive you of your family’s dinner.”

I stand up as well, keeping my movements fluid and controlled. “Thank you, ma’am. For all that you have brought to this faction.”

Jeanine studies me carefully. “I have brought little up until this point. Prosperity has not yet arrived on the doorstep of our city, but when the other factions recognize our absolute fitness to govern, it will come.”

\---  
The Hub is bustling with dependents and members of every faction. I split up from my parents, smiling at them one last time, as I make my way to my proper place in the room.

Bright blue lanterns illuminate the stage, gifts from my Erudite ancestors from the time when they had at last perfected nuclear fusion. I stare at them, for once not observing my surroundings as I get lost in the blue glow.

I wave at Kyra and Taylor, and smirk at Bassim, but other than that, I remain mostly silent. I take in the five large bowls on the stage, containing the faction elements: burning coals for Dauntless (which is highly ironic to me, considering coal was one of the main drivers of the climate crisis); glass for Candor; stones for Abnegation; earth for Amity; and water for Erudite.

When it is my turn, I will walk up to the stage and accept the properly-sanitized individual knife provided to me by Marcus Eaton, the leader of the Abnegation city council. I will gently slit my palm with the knife, making sure to avoid my key veins, and let a drop of my blood enter a bowl. 

Few other factions realize that there is a different knife for every dependent, but using the same knife would be highly unsanitary. Unless all of the factions want to hand out antibiotics following the Choosing, we must use separate knives. 

I am called to attention as Jeanine walks up the steps to the stage. She is flawlessly composed, dressed in a solid, sapphire-colored dress and navy flats. Her hair neatly frames her face; her makeup is heavily applied. She takes her place in front of the microphone and raises her hand. The Abnegation and Erudite fall silent immediately, but the Amity and Candor take a bit longer, and it is nearly a full minute before the Dauntless shouts subside.

“Good afternoon,” Jeanine begins. “Today we are here to celebrate our dependents, who are on the cusp of adulthood. As the portions of their brains controlling rational thought mature, they will be rewarded with the greatest gift of all: purpose in our faction system.

I have observed every one of these young people over the course of their childhoods, and I can confidently say that many of them will excel wherever they are placed.” She beams a controlled smile out to the audience, and then it falls, her face sobering again.

“There was a time in our history when we ignored the words of younger generations, letting seniors with deteriorating cognitive capacity dictate the average person’s access to a safe and meaningful livelihood.” A silence follows her words, and I recall a statistic in my history book: in the early twenty-first century, nearly half of the members of the United States’ legislative body were over sixty-five years old, having held power for a great number of years. Their outdated views had prevailed in a world where not enough young people valued participation in the democratic system. I shudder.

“In 1945, the United States demonstrated one of its most advanced scientific feats by deploying two atomic bombs over Japan, a then-tyrannical nation which had been allied with the German Third Reich. The fascist, genocidal German regime had already surrendered, but it took this scientific development to bring Japan to its knees. 

Once it became clear that the United States had emerged victorious, the world accelerated its technological development to levels never seen before in human history. Through a rivalry with the Soviet Union, its main competitor, the US developed advanced weapons technology, launched astronauts beyond Earth’s atmosphere, and went through a years-long revolution in communications technology, leading to the development of the television, the computer, the cell phone, and finally, the Internet.”

“But all of this innovation came at a great cost.”

The Erudite below me shift uncomfortably in their seats, knowing what is coming.

“Each and every one of these technologies were based on so-called ‘fossil fuels’-- coal, oil, and natural gas, which citizens continuously extracted from the Earth’s crust. In order to generate energy, these substances were combusted, leading to the release of greenhouse gases into the atmosphere. These gases, mainly carbon dioxide, effectively trapped infrared radiation, or heat, on our planet that would have otherwise been reflected back into space.”

Even the Dauntless are quiet as they brace themselves for the worst.

“The effects of these energy sources,” Jeanine continues, anger in her voice, “were known to corporations as early as 1960, and to citizens as early as 1980, yet they continued to be burnt into the 2050s due to some of the worst forces in human psychology: ignorance, cowardice, violence, dishonesty, and selfishness.”

“The world suffered for it. Extreme weather events battered every region on Earth, week after week. Our greatest enemies, harmful bacteria and viruses, flourished. More and more individuals found themselves without food or water.”

“A great deal of the human population, and the majority of the animal and plant population, was decimated as a result of this widespread negligence.”

No one moves. Most of the factions look collectively downward, in bated breath. Our history is depressing coming from any faction leader, but Jeanine’s intellectual bent renders the stupidity of our ancestors even more saddening.

She straightens up at the podium. “But after several decades of this turmoil, our population began to heal. Science was elevated to a widespread position of trust. Our founders and their compatriots worked day and night to render renewable energy sources practical across nations: solar power, wind power, and our city’s crowning achievement, nuclear fusion, a source so powerful that it is the force behind life’s existence.”

“We developed climate control technology that could spread across a city, ensuring that future generations could enjoy comfortable lives outside the toxic wasteland of the post-crisis world. We determined that diplomatic peace stemmed not from a network of nations, but that of self-sufficient cities such as ours.

And we developed the most impressive achievement to date of human society, the faction system. Each faction is part of a cell, collaborating with the other factions to achieve stability and continued life. Our youngsters, today, will determine the role that they will play in keeping our city alive.

In Abnegation, we find selfless leaders in government.” I admire the extent to which Jeanine masks her distaste.

“In Amity, we find biological sustenance and other types of comfort. We find our counselors, our nurses, our caretakers.  
In Dauntless, we find fearless protectors, who will efficiently respond to any threat found within or without our borders.” I try to suppress a snort, looking at the clearly bored Dauntless.

“In Candor, we find impartial, honest leaders in law.

And in Erudite, we find some of the most vital protectors of both our human and societal development: scientists, doctors, and teachers.”

I glance down, eventually finding the top of Dr. Thompson’s head amidst the rows of Erudite.

“Today marks a happy occasion: the day on which our youngsters will discover their place within the organism that is our city. I ask that all faction members celebrate and welcome these initiates with the enthusiasm that I will. Put simply, they are our future.

Thank you.”

I clap politely for Jeanine, reflecting on our profound history as Marcus Eaton replaces her to explain the Choosing rules. 

Our ancestors nearly destroyed civilization in their refusal to accept science and fact. Whatever comes after today, I vow to never let myself fall prey to those same impulses.

\---

Jeanine descends gracefully from the stage and takes her place a few rows in front of the line where I stand with the members of my Upper Levels class, arranged by reverse-alphabetical order of our first names. 

I can hear the boy on my left side, a boisterous Amity named Alexander, panting in apprehension. To my right stands Allie, a Dauntless girl with countless piercings. She looks bored, away from the hustle and bustle of her faction, and she seems at ease.

Marcus Eaton’s voice booms through the room. “Zachary Young.” 

Zachary, a straight-laced, truth-telling Candor, strides quickly up to the stage. He winces a bit as he slices his palm with the knife, but soon enough, a drop of his blood lands on top of the glass of the Candor bowl. All of the factions clap as Marcus announces his choice, and Zachary descends the stage, high-fiving his older brother in the audience. 

The names continue to be called. I mentally calculate the percentage of transfers, who are easily set apart before they come to the stage due to their expressions of insecurity. So far, it seems to be around 25 percent transfers, a little bit below the average. 

Marcus calls out a familiar name. “Taylor Steiner.” My friend, short in stature but seemingly unruffled, climbs up the stairs to the stage. She takes the clean knife offered and meticulously makes a cut. “Erudite,” Marcus says shortly after. Taylor’s lips turn up and she walks proudly back to the Erudite rows, Jeanine nodding at her along the way.

“Skylar Tiffen.” Skylar, looking more grown-up than ever in his finest blue suit, drops his blood without hesitation into the Erudite bowl. He exchanges a satisfied glance with me before sitting down.  
I wring my hands a bit nervously as Marcus approaches Kyra’s name. Even though I have little control over her choice, the uncertainty is a cause of apprehension. I continue to watch and tally the number of transfers to each faction. So far, Amity is leading, unsurprisingly. Jeanine told me that there is little reason to be concerned about how large Amity is growing, since all of the members help with the harvests that we depend on and are controlled by peace serum. Erudite is a bit ahead of Candor, with Dauntless far behind. I know the Dauntless take their low transfer rate as a sign of pride, but the Abnegation still lag even behind them. The vast majority of Abnegation initiates are born inside the faction, since it takes a significant amount of effort to adjust to or away from their lifestyle. 

I observe a few tearful Candor parents, their emotional honesty coming through, as their children transfer to Amity, Dauntless or Erudite. The parents of the Amity transfers smile sadly, while those of our faction nod in approval. We are proud of how our aptitude test directs children away who will not flourish intellectually. It is for their benefit. 

Dauntless, on the other hand, makes their collective disgust known through boos whenever someone transfers. Marcus works hard to calm the rowdy faction down. 

No Abnegation member has yet transferred, but that soon changes as an Abnegation girl, Patricia, drops her blood in the Amity bowl. The Abnegation still clap politely; they are on good terms with Amity, and most Abnegation transfers choose it.

“Kyra Brussels,” Marcus calls. I see Kyra’s shy nerves as she ascends the stairs, but I see little hesitation in her eyes as she gently slits her palm and holds it over the Amity bowl. A single tear drops from my eye, though it is a happy one. Kyra smiles at Taylor and I before running off the stage to her sister, who embraces her joyously in a way only a professional dancer would be capable of doing.

I’m going to miss her. I hope she will be content. Hopefully, in Amity, that goal shouldn’t be hard to accomplish.

Soon, we are nearing the end; only a dozen of us remain behind the seats when Marcus calls out, “Bassim Sharma.”

Bassim strides to the stage in long, athletic movements. He almost loses his grip on the knife, but smirks as he retrieves it. He then drips his blood into the water. “Erudite.”

There is a noticeably louder burst of applause due to Bassim’s known intellectual promise in mathematics. He and Skylar exchange an elbow bump, our casual way of greeting that limits the spread of disease. I smile, proud of my friends.

“Allie Devine,” says Marcus, and she goes up to the stage. The Dauntless whoop as she hightails it down the stairs to rejoin her faction. 

“Alia Rushton.”

A murmur courses through the room, my class members informing others of my rank or perhaps making fun of my intelligence. I ignore it all. I rise gracefully from my seat, telling myself to keep my head high and expression neutral as I make my way to the stage. 

There are three sets of eyes I meet before I choose: the contented ones of Kyra, the expectant ones of Jeanine, and the tearily proud ones of Dr. Thompson.

I turn away as I accept the knife. I shudder a bit as it penetrates my hand, quite glad that this is the most Dauntless move I have to make today. I would never, in a million years, be able to join their faction.

I lock eyes with the bowl of Erudite water, proudly representing my faction’s praise for all of my accomplishments. My future is waiting for me, a future full of discovery and improvement and leadership. I smile. 

Then, without hesitating for even a second, I hold my hand over a bowl.

A drop of my blood falls. It hits the Abnegation stones. 

I am a clean slate. I am reborn. And I am selfless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know if you saw this coming! ;)
> 
> It is probably apparent to many of you that Alia’s parents don’t appear at all in this chapter. There is a reason for that. Now that the pivotal decision has been revealed, the next few chapters will focus on the motivations behind it. Spoiler alert: they are motivations that I did not previously acknowledge because Alia herself can only come to terms with them in private.  
> Also, I am sorry for the long but generalized history rant. As you can see, I am very passionate about standing up to our money-hungry leadership and listening to climate science. Let’s push to make that a reality following the pandemic!
> 
> Stay safe :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alia reflects on past experiences that led her to make her choice. (TW: anxiety/self-hate)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy.
> 
> This chapter comes with a TW for mental health related issues at the end of the chapter. I will write Alia with the template of my own experience (before COVID-19, anyway), where I was basically living a double life when it came to mental health: one in public where I was strong, capable, social, and appeared unscathed, and one in private where I was struggling with some pretty extreme thoughts. 
> 
> There will not be any mentions of self-harm, abuse, or anything worse, but if I do my job correctly with this chapter, it will be emotional indeed. Please know that lighter chapters will be coming and that this darker one is necessary to explain my character and her choice to transfer.
> 
> On to the chapter before I break the writer’s rule “show, don’t tell!”

As I step off the stage, I feel as if my entire body has fallen asleep, numb and tingling. Joining Dauntless would have taken less bravery than this. I cannot believe that I have really done it, that I am Abnegation now. I have rejected my faction’s elite future for an ordinary one of my own.

There is silence in the room for about thirty seconds following Marcus’s pronouncement of my chosen faction. Not a single person in that room knew of my plans.

I am not so famous that I am known to every citizen, but the looks on the faces of the faction leaders in the audience: Jeanine, Jack Kang, Max, Johanna Reyes… they tell anyone who had never heard of me all of what they needed to know.

Make sure not to reveal anything in earshot of her, I could picture Max, Marcus, Jack and Johanna saying to their confidants. She’s Jeanine’s trainee. Anything she finds out will go straight to Jeanine.

Perhaps none of them had ever said that, but considering my image in the city, it was not an unlikely possibility.

After the interminable, silent period had passed, the Abnegation begin to clap politely. Some of the Amity clap too, sensing tension in the room and fearful of conflict. Then Marcus raises his hand, calls the name of Alexander, the boy who’d been next to me. I feel slightly bad that no one will be paying attention to his choice.

An Abnegation girl in the front row of the seats gives me a shy, welcoming smile and immediately rises from her chair, gesturing to it. I smile at her in return, an instinct coined from years of habit, and take a seat. 

I fixate my eyes on Alexander. I cannot look at anyone from my faction, or anyone else in the audience for that matter. I hope that this act of transferring is the most self-centered moment I will ever have in Abnegation. It is imperative upon me to prove to the faction leaders that I am no more self-centered than the Abnegation-born, who have been practicing selfless habits for their whole lives.

Involuntarily, my eyes drift to Kyra in the Amity rows. She has been waiting for them. She meets them. She smiles, looking surprised but not disturbed. I smile back, then avert my eyes.

I’m glad I told her and Taylor that I was considering transferring. My family, too.

I purposely failed to tell them that I wanted to transfer here, of all places. Their judgment would influence me and prevent me from making my own decision.

I do not know what the future holds, but I am suddenly overwhelmed with gratitude. 

That I was able to make this decision. That I dropped my blood onto those stones without looking back.

Because I’m going to need the healing that those smooth igneous rocks will provide me.

The water would not have cleansed me. It would have drowned me. 

I had merely been treading water. Now I am ashore.

\---

_4 years earlier_

My math teacher, Ms. Reflair, stood at the front of the classroom. Two-thirds of the room was filled with different shades of blue; the other third with a mixture of black, white, red, yellow, and gray. No one was denied entry to Advanced Math on the basis of this faction, but naturally, the vast majority of those who made the cut had been born in Erudite.

We all held a paper in our hands. Some people were smiling at theirs; Bassim, across the room, was clutching his with an unrepressed grin. Others placed them facedown on the table or folded them up into tiny pieces as if they were worthless, but I could see the pain on their faces.

I glanced at mine. As expected, I had scored exceptionally above average on language arts. On math, however, the report merely read “Performance Above Grade Level.” I didn’t think much of it. I had always been stronger in reading, that was a fact. Above grade level was where I needed to be on math; as long as I wasn’t on grade level or below, my expectations had been met.

“Some of you did very well on this battery of assessments,” Ms. Reflair began, her eyes meeting all of ours in turn. “Others of you lagged behind, and still others clearly put in less effort than you are capable of. I am disappointed in that third group.”

Silence hung over us. A few of the Dauntless and a few of the Candor looked away, trying to avoid being targeted, but nearly every Erudite’s eyes were locked on hers. No doubt those born in our faction took effort more seriously.

“I will be meeting with each of you individually. In the meantime, you will be completing the virtual activity-” she gestured to the laptops on each of our tables- “with your tablemates. Please do not request help from me until the end of the class period. I want privacy in these conferences, and I want to see you think about the activity without asking for help. Thank you. Nathaniel, you are first.” Nathaniel Alderon, a fellow Erudite, left his seat and sat across from Ms. Reflair. I could not make out what they were saying, and I did not waste too much time in disobedient attempts to do so. I turned to the virtual activity and started conversing with my tablemates.

Soon enough, my name was called. I told my tablemates that I would be back, and I took the chair across from Ms. Reflair, who eyed me with an observant look. I shrunk back slightly in my seat. Ms. Reflair was truly a kind teacher who wanted the best for all of us, but she motivated by intimidation at times. However, my behavior, incredibly mature for Grade Six, more often than not put me in her good graces.

“Hello, Alia,” she began. “Do you have any questions about your results before I interpret them?”

I shook my head, already familiar with the types of metrics on the page.

“It was reported this morning that you broke a five-year record on this battery for language arts. No one has received a perfect score in that long. Commendable job.”

I smiled shyly. “Thank you.”

“In math, however… I must admit that I am disappointed.”

I looked up, startled. I thought Ms. Reflair knew that I was in the middle of the class in terms of my math ability. I always completed the work and gave my best effort, but I never scored as high as people like Bassim, or even Taylor, who I was barely acquainted with at that point.  
“Alia, you have broken faction records in verbal IQ, and you are one of the most advanced students I have seen in years, personality-wise. I am saying this to assist you. Your performance was underwhelming. Perhaps your level in mathematics at the moment is underwhelming, but I believe that can be rectified.”

“I would like you,” she continued, sliding another piece of paper across the desk, “to practice math every night through these resources.” I look down to see a list of digital math tools. “If you put in this effort, you will improve, I am sure of that. And being that Erudite is not just a faction of language, but rather a faction that stakes its livelihood in STEM-” she pointed up at a poster breaking down the acronym ‘STEM’- “you will benefit enormously from an increase in mathematical ability. Do I make myself clear?”

I noticed that she asked for no proof that I was practicing, beyond the class practice assignments that we were all required to complete. That meant this was a true matter of her emotions, her dreams in terms of my potential. She would not hold me accountable, but she would coax me into additional practice. 

I would not let her down.

I had let people down before, especially my parents. They always wished for me to play with other children my age, despite my insistence that I preferred playing by myself, since I was bored by their intellectually-inferior behavior.

But the looks on my parents’ faces had been so painful that I vowed I would never disappoint adults again. I never understood classmates who flippantly broke rules. Rules were sacred.

“Yes, I will practice,” I told her sheepishly. 

“Good. You may return to your table now.”

\----  
 _3 years ago_

My mother and I walked into the empty Middle Levels building as the restaurants behind us buzzed with summer activity. We were here to pick up my end-of-grade test results, like any good Erudite. And we were more than happy to save the office workers an envelope-- the results had to be mailed to members of other factions, who were repulsed by the idea of returning to school after the summer had begun.

The look on my mother’s face was distracted-- I could tell that she was making a mental list of the rest of the tasks she needed to complete that day. By contrast, my face portrayed nothing but intense focus, fear even. I always had a creeping paranoia that one day, I would open a test result, and it would be horrendous, a shame to my family and my faction. I was craving the validation that a superior result would bring. 

My mother smiled at me as we walked in, and I walked up to the older woman, dressed in a dark-blue dress at the front desk. “Hello, I’m Alia Rushton, and I’m here to pick up my test results,” I said to her, trying to keep the quaver out of my voice.

She nodded. “One moment.” She typed on her computer for about a minute, and with one final click, I heard a whirring sound coming from the printer on her other side. Without looking at the results, she folded them in half and handed them to me. I thank her warmly, and my mother and I exit the school. I wanted to open my results then and there, but my mother instructed me to wait until we returned to the car, so that we could go over them in private.

I slammed the door on the passenger side of the car and eagerly opened the piece of paper. I read it. And I read it again. I was awestruck. 

“How did you do?” my mother asked neutrally.

“Mom,” I gasped, “I’m ranked first in the grade in language arts, with an adjusted rank of…one.” The adjusted rank was a statistical rank created to account for unusually high- or low-performing graduating classes. The adjusted rank meant that I would have scored first, on average, in any group of students.

A wide grin spread over her face. “That’s exemplary!! I’m so very proud of you!” 

I held up a finger. “That’s not all.”

She gave me a quizzical look.

“I’m ranked second in the grade in math, with an adjusted rank of one!”

Most kids my age had screamed at the top of their lungs in delight at least once. But the first time I had done it was that day. Not able to contain myself, I lean back into the seat and scream with joy. The feeling of delight flooded my body in an overwhelming deluge. I could not wait to tell Ms. Reflair how her practice regimen had paid off!

My mother, knowing that the armrest between us was an unnecessary divider, opened her door and came around to my side of the car. I climbed out, putting the precious paper down on the seat, and we hugged, not letting go for what seemed like five minutes.

My true identity had been born that day. 

I had broken away from the mold of my parents, who had been exceptional students in humanities and average in mathematics and science, to the point where they were barred from pursuing those fields.

I had broken away from my genetics. I had created the correct environment for my brain to thrive.

It was a fine example of faction before blood.

\---

Later that night, the phone rang as I was sitting in my room, rereading a favorite book as a reward for my strenuous work over the course of the school year.

I heard my father answer it in the kitchen, and I assumed it was one of his work colleagues, since his “hello” left his lips normally. Yet after that first greeting, his tone became surprised, then humbled. I was unable to make out his next words, but I tensed as I heard footsteps heading straight for my room.

I answered the door when he knocked. His eyes narrowed in happiness as he held out the phone to me.

“Alia, this is Jeanine Matthews,” he told me, the delight but also the weight of the moment in his tone. “She would like to speak with you.”

Jeanine Matthews? The Jeanine Matthews? I saw no logical reason for the leader of our faction to ask to speak to a mere Middle Levels student over the summer, a time when she normally busied herself overseeing outdoor scientific research and making changes to the educational system.

I picked up the phone, my heart pumping blood more and more rapidly through my body. “Hello, Ms. Matthews?”

My father exited the room. I wished that he could stay to support me through the intimidation of a leader’s call at thirteen years old, but I supposed it would only be appropriate that I address her maturely and without assistance.

“Alia Rushton?” she questioned, those two words conveying little emotion, yet so much expectation.

Those two words were not simply a method of identification. They held a significant volume of strategy, of planning for the future. 

Just when I believed that day could not possibly widen its impact on me, I was transformed not only in my own eyes, but in the eyes of our faction leader, and therefore in the eyes of our entire faction. I was in a different category now. One score had propelled me to a lifetime of success.

I was so proud, so grateful, yet so fearful of what the future would bring. I realize that fear had never left me, not since I had opened that piece of paper with those scores.

\----

_1 year ago_

It was on full display now.

The time was 3 AM, the other side of the Earth turned toward the Sun. It was pitch black, inside and outside. My parents were asleep, but I was awake. Today, there was no need to think in complex terms, because I knew of three facts that would never leave me.

First, I had scored a ninety-two percent on my Advanced World History Test.  
Second, eight classmates had scored higher than me on that same test.  
Third, I was a fraud. I was a failure.

I knew for a fact that Jeanine Matthews only recruited me because she eventually wanted to show me my place, as a lying, arrogant person who should have never been born into Erudite, let alone been pampered by its leader. 

I gasped silently into my comforter as I recalled the torture of seeing that grade, circled in red at the top of my paper. Tears ran down my cheeks and I bit my tongue, hard, to keep from screaming.

My heart was racing again. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t think. I hated myself. I wanted nothing more than to disappear and never see anyone again. Eight whole people had scored higher than me, eight. I wanted to hurt them, make them pay for daring to answer those questions correctly, when I didn’t. Yet I also wanted them to hurt me beyond repair. Maybe they could throw me into the factionless sector and call me names, maybe they could call a former Dauntless to come and physically make me pay for being the horrible person I was.

Was that bile in my throat? I hoped so. Part of me wanted physical proof of just how unattractive and undesirable I was. 

Part of me relished the pain that perfectionistic anxiety brought me. After all, following every one of these undesirable performances, I churned out a quick succession of superior results, as if I were a human cannon similar to the kind used by our ancestors when they fought for the independence of the United States.  
As I cried, I also studied. Mathematical formulas filled my inner dialogue. A list of Abnegation cabinet members began to play in my head. I had a strong desire to simultaneously scream, cry and laugh at it all.

One fact was for sure: unless I picked up a virus in the process of this anxiety, there would be close to no sign of it tomorrow morning. My observant parents might give me looks of concern, but I would dismiss them with a wave of the hand, not look at them, go to school and walk with a bounce in my step toward every class. I would laugh at every joke made by a friend, answer nearly every question asked by a teacher, and report to the Advisory Council after, my makeup effectively eliminating my lack of sleep.

For now, though, I was a failure, and there was no other place where I could act like one.   
I opened my phone, typed out a poem, tried to calm down my heart rate, with the other half of my heart encouraging itself to pump faster.

Then, without fully realizing what I had typed onto my notes app, I read the latest stanza. I noticed it differentiated itself from the rest of the poem by virtue of its laughably simplistic language.

My breath caught as I comprehended its deeper meaning:

_Okay, this is crazy  
This is not real  
Let me out  
Stop the pain _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter we will be jumping back to the present!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Abnegation initiates return to their sector from the Hub, and each one is instructed to disclose an instance of selfishness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the largest problems I had with Allegiant was the “infodump” nature of the writing-- when Roth explained the details of the experimental cities, it was presented in a matter of a few pages without any excitement or light content in between. Since I am trying to fix many of Allegiant’s problems with this plotline, I have decided to jump between the present and the past for the next few chapters. Otherwise, the explanation of why Alia transferred would be unceremoniously dumped on readers’ heads and the plot would be going nowhere.
> 
> The universe is Veronica Roth’s, as well as the canon characters!
> 
> This chapter is written in the present (i.e. after the Choosing Ceremony.) Enjoy!

I know I should be watching the remaining dependents choose their factions, but I have become uncharacteristically unfocused. I clap with my new faction, like a robot, yet my thoughts are elsewhere. Aware of that issue from the moment I left the stage, I push myself to pay attention and leave the reflection for later. 

The last dependent, Abby Farlane, drops her blood into the Amity bowl, and her faction claps enthusiastically as she rejoins it. I see Kyra’s sister pat the empty seat next to her, and Abby and Kyra smile at each other as they are introduced. I turn away and refocus myself on the stage, where Marcus will deliver the brief closing remarks.

“All of our dependents have now chosen their permanent homes. I expect the utmost care to be taken in their initiation and, in the case of the transfers, assimilation to their new factions. We must never forget the motto that unites us all: faction before blood.”

He holds his hands out to the crowd, and all of us repeat, with varying levels of conviction, “faction before blood.”

“Thank you, and best of luck to this year’s initiates.” Marcus lowers his head gracefully and descends the stage, making his way toward the Abnegation rows. Our rows. 

My ears are quickly pelted by the overdramatic sound of the Dauntless leaving their rows, pushing and shoving each other as if in competition for speed, which I suppose they are. They stream rapidly past, slamming open the door to the stairs. Their whoops and shouts travel into the Choosing room even after the last one of them is gone.

At this point, my desire to meet the eyes of people from Erudite, one last time, is too strong to overcome. I vow to look quickly and then plunge myself into true Abnegation behavior without looking back. To speed myself up, I decide to think only two words about each face:

My mother. She is talking with my father. Perplexed and open.  
My father. Surprised and disbelieving.  
Taylor, who is sitting quietly for the time being. Intrigued and noncommittal.  
Dr. Thompson. Disturbed… and sad.

I will myself to show no emotion on my face as I continue through the rows.  
Bassim and Skylar. Incredibly quizzical. Wondering if they truly knew me, I suppose.  
And… Jeanine. She wears her unemotional mask, but I can read her quite well. I see only two emotions behind that mask: fear and rage.

I turn away. Their reactions are out of my control now. I will not look at Erudite again. 

The Abnegation-born girl sitting next to me gives me a courteous nod and turns her lips up slightly. Though the clothing does not flatter her, she is modestly attractive, with warm almond-shaped eyes and straight, black hair. I remember to avert my eyes slightly from her before speaking, and say, “Hi, what’s your name?” Of course, it comes to my mind easily, but if there is any time to drop the Erudite know-it-all act, it is now. 

The voice that comes out does not belong to me. Or, at least, it has not belonged to me in many years. All of my Erudite confidence is gone; I am meek, yet open and… kind in a way I have rarely heard myself before.

“I’m Lindsay Zhang,” she replies, with adequate Abnegation deference yet more confidence than me. My Erudite side immediately begins studying her behavior, presuming it is a good model to emulate. “And you are?” she asks. I wonder if she knows perfectly well who I am, but is asking me out of factional habit.

“Alia Rushton,” I say, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lindsay.”

“Likewise,” she says back, looking a bit surprised that I have shed my Erudite mannerisms so quickly. We both look up as Marcus holds his hand in the air, calling us to silence. Candor has already left the Choosing room by this point, and Erudite is starting to exit. Don’t look, I tell myself sternly. You made your choice, and you are being watched.

Marcus clears his throat and begins speaking again. “On behalf of the entire Abnegation faction, I would like to welcome back our former dependents, and deliver a fresh welcome to our transfers. By choosing to pursue selflessness, you have started yourselves on a path that may not always appear easy, but that will prove far more fulfilling than the fleeting addictions of selfish behavior.”

The members put their hands together in unison for us, but Lindsay keeps hers rested in her lap, so I do the same.

“Once Amity has exited the room, members and initiates alike will be responsible for stacking all of the chairs. The folding-chair carts are in those two closets--” he points to two sets of large doors on either side of the back of the room, “and chairs should be divided evenly between them. Mr. Prior and Mr. Black, please assist me with cleaning and storing the bowls.”

Two men rise from the front row, each with an equally short brown-cropped haircut and a diligent expression. The faction waits placidly as Amity files out. Then, once the last peek of yellow disappears beyond the exit door, the members rise in unison, no one pushing or shoving. Lindsay heads for the closet at the right of the room, while I head for the left. I hope I will meet her again later on.

After the closets are opened, I walk to the Candor rows and start folding up chairs from the back. There is little chatter as the chairs are stacked, simply brief words of direction and thanks. I marvel at the perfect synchronization of it all.

As I continue to stack the chairs, I notice a girl and a boy on each side of me. The girl is short and brown-haired, her hair pulled back into the standard Abnegation bun. The boy is much taller and moves fluidly and politely through the gaggle of members as he puts up the chairs. 

The girl grunts as she picks up another chair, her face not placid, just bored. The boy gives her a reproving look and her cheeks burn bright. Noticing her exhaustion, I quickly move to help her pick up the heavy chair. Her eyes flit to my blue clothing in what seems like curiosity, and perhaps apprehension, but I simply nod at her. “Need a hand?” I say, using my much-taller frame to carry two chairs at once.

“Yes, thank you,” she replies, her tone flat, almost hostile.

“Beatrice,” the boy comments as he returns, “there is no need to fear her. She is Abnegation now.”

“I know, Caleb,” she replies irritably, then, against her will, purses her lips together. Caleb’s eyes meet mine with something like amusement for a split-second. I can only deduce that they are siblings-- too young to be choosing, however. 

I continue to feel multiple sets of eyes on me, which all stray when my own eyes meet theirs. Many of the Abnegation abandon their curiosity after one glance, but I catch repeated looks from both Caleb and Beatrice. When most of the seats are packed up, I see Andrew Prior approach the children and tell them to come and join their mother. Interesting. They are the children of one of the highest-ranking council members. 

Glancing down at my blue clothing, I realize I am looking forward to shedding it. I had hoped that Abnegation, with its uniform and caring community, would be least put off by a top-ranked Erudite coming into its midst. Familiar with human psychology as I am, though, I know full adaptation and acceptance might take a while. I am willing to wait.

Marcus proceeds to instruct us to use the stairs, since it is imperative upon us to give up the convenience of the elevator to the other factions. I walk a bit away from Caleb and Beatrice, making my way toward the only people not in grey. Surely what I need in this moment is understanding from someone who has just left home.

I frown. That was a very self-serving statement. More Amity than Abnegation. I stop myself from outwardly shaking my head. I will join the transfers because they could use the support. Better. There will be much of that redirection in thought to come.

“Hello,” I say quietly, taking stock of the other transfers. The first, an Amity girl with thin, blonde hair, greets me with a shy smile. The second, another Amity girl, acknowledges me in the Abnegation style, by nodding. Her curled, brown hair frames her face, and her brown eyes have depth not seen in the average Amity. The third and last, a Candor boy standing at my tall height with shorter hair, turns his lips up politely.

“Hey,” the first girl says, her tone meek but not unkind. “I’m Mallory. How do you think we will get to the Abnegation sector?”

The second girl looks at Mallory, clearly familiar with her. I, of course, do know her name: Precious. And the Candor boy’s: Muhammad. But, again, to address them by name would be a show of Erudite pride, the opposite of what I should demonstrate.

I go into a short daze at that thought. I don’t need to prove my own superiority anymore. All I must do is prove my dedication to others. I can’t help it; I break into a sunny smile, probably looking like an Amity. Hopefully the others will take it as happiness to meet them.

“I think we will ride the buses,” Precious tells Mallory, “perhaps with a few of the Candor, but most likely after they are gone.” She introduces herself after, followed by Muhammad, who is remarkably cognizant of how much he speaks for a Candor. A former Candor. There is a reason he left them. Does Abnegation consider it selfish to speak of those reasons? I do not want to take a risk this early on, so I refrain from questioning him.

“I’m Alia,” I offer, realizing they may know my name already, from the rankings. It seems Precious certainly recognizes me; Mallory and Muhammad look as though they’ve only seen or heard about me in passing. I search for an acceptable conversation topic; my definition of “acceptable” has just been turned upside down. “I’m sure we will be going to the factionless sector soon; have you ever spent time there?”

All three nod. Precious refers to the fact that Amity dependents often assist the members in driving food into the city. Muhammad says he passes the sector on the way to the school. I comment that Erudite members rarely travel to the factionless sector, and I’m looking forward to helping out.

We descend silently down the stairs. When the faction is safely down, we spread out, making sure not to block anyone’s path. The last forty or so Candor board the next public bus that arrives, and we wait until most of them are gone before climbing on ourselves. One after the other, the younger members offering hands to the elderly ones. It is beautiful, the time the Abnegation take. No business call or meeting will cause this faction to neglect others. 

The only interruptions in sound are stray Dauntless whoops and moving train cars, as well as Candor conversation. A few packed Amity trucks and sleek Erudite cars move in a line down the street. They all rush to get home, but not us. 

There are healthy gaps of silence in our conversation as we wait and anticipate the needs of our compatriots. Comfortable silence; silence that permits me to adjust to the reality of what I have just accomplished. What I have decided. I attempt to push away regrets and fears, and surprisingly find it quite a bit easier among the protective cloud of gray around me. No matter what, there are factionless to be fed, maintenance to be done… I step on the bus, glancing to make sure the member behind me is secure.

It is not perfect. As the bus jolts, I smell body odor, and start sweating on my own. But I do not complain. This is a small price to pay for all of the benefits I am anticipating.

\---

The Abnegation sector is as markedly different from the Erudite sector as possible. Instead of immaculate, newly paved roads, there are potholes and cracks in the sidewalk. Instead of TV-worthy houses arranged in a glittering formation, there are squat, gray box houses placed an equal distance apart from each other. Marcus waves at the pack that is my new faction, and it separates into distinct family units, the parents making polite conversation or tending to their children as they make their way to their houses. He calls out for us initiates to walk behind him to headquarters, along with a small group of members.

Footsteps in unassuming unison, the pack of grey in front of me follows Marcus. Muhammad and I walk next to each other on the sidewalk as Precious and Mallory stray behind. The girl in front of me turns her head to give a small smile. Lindsay. I return it, hoping she and her friends can get to know the other transfers. 

I again marvel at the careful simplicity of the troupe movement. 

No one targets awed glances my way, or whispers with their friends in an attempt to guess my IQ score. No one studies my every feature, or asks me to explain the process of bacterial DNA transfer. And I feel the liberation that anonymity brings, even in these blue clothes. I try to soak all of it up. Then I remember that I will have plenty of time to bask in it; the rest of my life, in fact. 

Marcus reaches the doors to headquarters, and we halt behind him. The building is nothing like the mammoth that is Central at Erudite. It is unmarked and two stories high. Of course, the government is housed at the Hub, so the smallness of the building is understandable.

“Initiates,” he begins, his authoritative voice filtering back to us. “I, again, congratulate you. Today, you have chosen to reject selfishness, the most harmful flaw of human nature. You have chosen to lose yourself in your community, to serve the vulnerable, to lead by example in our society. Please know that I and the other council members,” he indicates a few of them, “are very pleased with your choice, and are looking forward to seeing what you can contribute to this faction.”

“Please follow me,” he intones, and two of the unassuming men by his side each pry open a door, clearing our path. He leads us into the unadorned lobby, picks the hallway right next to the reception desk, and opens the door to a smaller gathering room, where rows of chairs are already set. The initiates file in one by one, keeping their eyes trained either downward or on Marcus. I occupy a row with the other three transfers, Lindsay, and another Abnegation-born girl. In total, there are four of us transfers, and twenty-two Abnegation-borns.

Looking a bit exhausted but trying not to show it, Marcus makes his way to the front of the room. “The initiation process,” he starts, “is non-competitive, as competition is almost always accompanied by selfishness.”

Jeanine always lauded competition, worshipped it. Dr. Thompson often said that science would not exist without it. But the way Marcus says those words, so uniform and persuasive, stirs a feeling in my heart: at my core, I have always been dissatisfied with my competitive side, afraid of the negative consequences it brought.

“All of you will complete thirty days of volunteer work, assisting our members in their home, sector, and factionless-related duties. Selfish behavior is not a grounds for dismissal from the faction, but I hope that none of you will require such a punishment in order to feel the full weight of your failures.”

“Abnegation-born initiates, you will be going home to your families tonight. Though we adhere to the principle of faction before blood, we believe that a selfless lifestyle always includes a selfless home, with consistent support and stability over a long period of time. Transfers, some of our families have graciously agreed to house you for the duration of initiation. You will receive your home assignments this evening, and will take on an equal portion of household responsibilities as the members and dependents.”

“Frederick,” he motions to another man, a shorter one, with the same close-cropped brown hair, “will be taking over the remainder of this introduction. Again, welcome to Abnegation.” He nods once more before retreating to the back of the room.

Frederick’s voice is quieter than Marcus’s, but with the same tone of calm authority. “Good afternoon, initiates.” He pauses. 

“Good afternoon, Frederick,” the Abnegation-borns chorus, with the transfers joining in after. 

“Each of you will be joining me and Mrs. Hornby,” he motions to the older woman beside him, “behind that door. I will be calling your first names in alphabetical order. While you wait, I encourage you to reflect on a time in your youth when you have acted selfishly. Do not fear punishment for thinking about yourself at this time.”

There is a quiet murmur throughout the room as the two adults walk over to a discreet side door, enter, and close it. Mallory looks a little nervous, but is calmed by Lindsay reassuring us that Frederick is a very kind man and we have nothing to fear from initiation.

Compared to all the thinking I have done over the past year, unearthing one instance of selfishness is quite a simple feat. It is lucky too, because I am called immediately after two Abnegation-borns, Abilene and Abraham. I wish my friends luck as I make my way to the room, the scene mirroring, yet differing from the day of the aptitude test.

I turn the handle and open the door. On the left side is an opaque, gray, movable partition; on the right is a wall. Frederick and Mrs. Hornby sit on one side of a nondescript table. I am invited to sit down, and I do so, trying to appear nondescript and unconcerned.  
“Alia Rushton,” Frederick says, nodding at me. “It is our pleasure.” Mrs. Hornby’s expression is a bit more tentative, but still open. I feel a surge of hope. 

“And mine as well, thank you, sir,” I reply, marveling at how short my sentences are in comparison to those I spoke at home. Erudite, not home. Mrs. Hornby seems to relax when my tone does not showcase the usual Erudite arrogance. 

“Every year, Alia, we begin initiation by requesting that each initiate share a small instance of selfishness, that I, as a member, forgive. It marks the transition from the self-centered nature of youth to the sacrifices of adulthood. Following the confession, you will change out of your Erudite clothing and into ours, and it will be washed and given to the factionless, symbolizing loss of selfish identity, and rebirth.”

I nod, refraining from asking him any questions. Rebirth is a powerful word.

“Please go ahead and share your instance of selfishness.”

The hardest part of exercise is concealing the emotion from my face. Luckily, I learned how to do so in Erudite. “When I was in Middle Levels,” I begin, “my parents, my teachers, and some of my friends… they all told me to be proud of my high IQ score.”

I pause, hoping this will not evoke an adverse reaction. When it does not, I speak again.

“To be grateful, because . . . I was born in what they said was the undoubtedly superior faction of this city, and because there were factionless children, starving and poor, who could hardly dream of intellect like mine. And that I was so deserving of my gift, compared to them.”

I try not to clench my fists. Frederick looks unsurprised, but Mrs. Hornby’s face mirrors the anger I feel. This sort of toxic gratitude had always been one of my pet peeves. How was I truly superior to a factionless child who had never been given the chances I had? How was I supposed to neglect their suffering, and revel in my own, privileged existence, casting disgust at those beneath me?

Those were thoughts developed over time. In Middle Levels, I took the statements to be truth, doing what humans do best: conformity.

“I went along with their statements. I barely concealed my laughs when people answered incorrectly in class,” my eyes burn with repressed tears, “and I believed that no one had ever worked as hard as I, was as deserving as I. Every time someone brought up my test scores, I would smile and discuss my excitement and ability. I would even…” I take a breath, “determine the best way to slip a mention of my own intelligence into a conversation, when others were discussing themselves or the community.”

“Did you reject vanity? Did you apologize, correct the error of your ways?” Frederick asks, when it is clear I have finished speaking. 

“No, I eventually stopped believing what people said about the factionless, but I still sought the satisfaction of flaunting my elevated reputation.” By the end I am looking down, ashamed, fearing their reactions. 

“Going forward, will you let go of that vanity, project always outward, and lose yourself in your community?”

“I will try, sir, to the best of my ability.”

“Then Abnegation bestows upon you its forgiveness,” he says in a ritualistic manner, “and its welcome. From this day forward, Alia Rushton, you will abandon that selfishness, and you will bear the sacrifices of adulthood alongside us.”

Mrs. Hornby remains silent, but I can see that she is taking a few notes. I hope desperately that my performance was sound.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You did well,” Frederick says comfortingly, then gestures to the partition behind him. “You will find today’s outfits in various sizes. Please pick up only one outfit in your size, and dispose of your current clothing in the basket at the side of the room.”

I only nod, turn, and push open the partition. Before I fully enter, I hear Mrs. Hornby say, softly enough that I think I may have imagined it,

“I am selfishly pleased that you see the error in your former faction’s ways.”

Frederick gives her a reproving glance, but I merely smile, and then walk into the simple changing space, noting the door at the back that I am instructed to exit through.

I have shed so many questions today. My clothes are an insignificant fragment compared to the layers of my Erudite side, discarded, now and forever. 

But as I think of Mrs. Hornby, one question remains. 

_Does the error of virtue lie in Erudite, or does it lie inside of me?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this was not too boring, but this is Abnegation after all-- if you aren’t a fan of its simplicity, there are plenty of Dauntless fics out there. ;) Next chapter will be back in the past at Erudite and have a bit more action going. The time switch will continue for the next few chapters until the plot arc surrounding Alia’s initiation and choice is completed, and I move on to the next arc.
> 
> Wear masks when out, social distance, stay home, stay safe! Thanks to all essential workers; I wish my appreciation could be demonstrated in pay! 
> 
> And, much less importantly, please review if you can :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alia is conflicted between her personal feelings and Erudite's noble role in city affairs as she discusses other factions with her parents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long absence. I was occupied with quite a few summer activities, current events, and brainstorming. On the plus side, I have a much more coherent and detailed world in my head for this story, as well as more of an understanding of where the plot is heading!
> 
> Wear masks, social distance, don’t party… just keep being safe out there. 
> 
> Also, please take some time this week to sign petitions, read up on recent events, donate to anti-racist organizations, etc. Part of the reason I took time off from this story was to re-organize my priorities as an ally and human being. Escapism is fun, but we also need to stand behind all of the BIPOC who are suffering right now.
> 
> BLM.

_1 year ago; Erudite_

“I don’t know what to tell you,” my mom said. 

I removed my hands from my face and looked up at her, my vision blurring through my glassy eyes. “It’s fine,” I cried, brushing her off defensively, “I’ll be good tomorrow, don’t worry.” 

“Alia,” is all she said in response, her tone sharp, brittle, but above all, exhausted. 

I stopped crying and stared fearfully at her. “I’m sorry-”

“You need to pull yourself together. I’m always happy to listen to you, but this is getting out. Of. Control,” she snapped, her eyes narrowing at me in an accusatory manner. 

My heart rate must have doubled. I retained the carbon dioxide for as long as my body could allow, a soft gulp escaping my lips. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I said, in a tiny voice that did not belong to me.

_Un. Deux. Trois._

Counting to myself, I commanded my spine to strengthen, my speech to become more coherent. The red in my eyes remained, but the arrogant Erudite glamour on the outside had returned, despite being as unstable as a molecule of ATP.

My mom only sighed in response.

“Good night,” I told her, my voice managing not to quaver.

I closed the door, walked back to my room, closed my door, and flung myself on the bed. I looked like one of those Amity movie stars, crying over a breakup of a relationship that had lasted two weeks. The thought made me laugh. Then cry. Then scream into my pillow, until there was nothing left. 

All this, over a single, simple assignment. Yet even though I knew better, I was convinced that my life hinged on it. My success, my ability to adapt in different situations, which I was going to need as a leader. My spatial skills, the respect I gained from Jeanine. All of it, I believed, was hinged on the directions I read once again as they sat innocuously in front of me:

_With as much detail and precision as possible, draw Helen’s living room as seen in Act 1, Scene 1. Then, on a separate sheet, type one paragraph explaining what role each piece of furniture plays later on, and what scenes involving it reveal about Helen’s relationship with her husband._

_Make sure to include all adornments and pieces of furniture as described in the script. Failure to do so will result in a zero for the assignment. Half-hearted and poorly-drawn attempts will result in a C grade at maximum. Twenty percent of your quarter grade hinges on this assignment. I want to see nothing less than your best work._

The writing part was easy. But the drawing part was a disaster. I had never been particularly gifted in spatial pursuits, part of the reason I never believed I could top my class. My verbal IQ had always been off the charts, whereas my quantitative and nonverbal scores had seen a dramatic increase since middle school. Yet all of that progress could be undone if I failed. Erudite heavily considered grades in its initiation and career placement, and I absolutely could not lose my 4.0 GPA. I didn’t even want to get an overall grade below a 95%. I would rather have died. 

That thought snapped me out of my cycling patterns, and my facial expression crumbled even more at the thought of the word suicide. I scolded myself for thinking such a word, picturing my mom’s torn expression as she stood over a coffin. The girl who did this, over an assignment. 

I hated myself for reacting this way, as much as I hated myself for being unable to sit down, pick up a pen, and draw a perfect rendition of Helen’s living room, as many of my classmates had done. The deadline was Friday, and it was Tuesday, but some people had already finished. Kimberly had entered the room today with a spotless and beautiful drawing, discussing with my teacher how much she had enjoyed the assignment. Lukas, a rowdy Dauntless who often got made fun of for his cluelessness in class, had also sported a shining version of the assignment. Everyone had seemed happy, and I was panicking. I could not come in at the bottom of the pack, not if I wanted to do well in the future.

But maybe I wasn’t worthy. Maybe I was too fragile to even have any sort of an intellectual future. Maybe my classmates had been hiding their unequivocal brilliance from me all this time, and let me be at the top of the class as a practical joke. 

And now Mom hated me as much as I hated myself.

I couldn’t help it. I opened my mouth, and let out a wail loud enough to reverberate throughout the whole house. Then I rolled over onto my stomach, my open mouth touching the pillow, and kicked the bottom of my legs as hard as I possibly could against the bed. 

The door opened, for once without a knock. My dad peeked in, a look of disbelief on his face, but with the same confidence I had always seen.

“Alia?” he asked, “are you okay?”

“I’m a failure,” I mumbled, stuck on those three words. “Just… go away,” I said, more loudly this time.

He sat down on the edge of my bed, the mattress groaning underneath our combined weights and the blue sheets bending to form an indentation around him.

“Whatever this is,” he said, “it’s going to be okay.”

I was so tired of people telling me this. Couldn’t they see how inadequate I was? It was all I could do to put on my facade during the day.

“No, it’s not... “ I replied, “Dad, I’m going to fail this assignment, and all of Erudite will hate me, because I can’t draw…”

He laughed. That stung. “You have my genes to thank for that,” he countered jokingly.

I let out an even larger sob. 

He turned serious. “You need to stop being so hard on yourself,” he said. 

My normally-observant eyes were taking in nothing. I sighed. “But what if I don’t stop? What then? What if I keep on failing?”  
“You won’t,” he said. 

When I just looked at him, he tilted his head and continued on. “Alia Ellis Rushton, from the moment you were born, I knew of the potential you held. Not just in your grades, but as a human being. I think you’re aware that the first night after we brought you home from Central Complex Hospital, I had a dream…”

I had heard this story before. It was a motivating one, almost to the point of toxicity. I latched onto every word, hating myself for it.

“You were an adult, standing next to me. And I could tell, immediately, that you were a genius. The type of person this world doesn’t often see, even though this is a whole faction of intellectuals. It wasn’t your blue clothes, or your spectacles, but the words you spoke. I don’t remember them, but they remembered me.”

I sighed, leaving it to him to interpret the dream. Sometimes, there was no benefit to be found in protesting his conclusions. This was one of those times. My eyes narrowed as I thought of a way to guide the conversation gently away from me, so I wouldn’t have to feel the internal knife of my shame, punishing my body for every wrong move my brain made.

“Dad,” I asked softly, “is that the way you thought about Mom, too?”

Sure enough, his eyes softened, and my muscles relaxed, thankful to be moving on from more discussion about my supposed genius. A slow smile came over his face, and he laughed a little, the deep sound resonating through the room. I cast a fearful glance down the hallway, hoping my mother wasn’t going to leap out at us and scold us for our noise.

“The way I felt- feel- about her can’t be replicated,” he said with conviction. “Yes, she ranked more highly in initiation than I did, but that hardly meant anything. What mattered was her internal goodness, her work ethic-- the kind of sweet behavior you don’t usually see in Candor.”

My eyes twitched a little as my lips drew into a smirk, thinking of the rowdiest Candor at school. “Do you ever wonder how she was born to Grandma and Grandpa Corey?”

My mother had transferred to Erudite from Candor, and my grandparents were still members. Quite content in their faction, I might add. We went to see them on Visiting Days, and while they were always thoughtful with food and gifts, they were as Candor as you could possibly get. Interruptions, debates, and the like permeated their apartment on a regular basis. They were still intelligent people, but lacked the sort of grace and charisma my father was referring to in my mother.

He nodded immediately. “I certainly do, but I have no reason to complain,” he laughed. “But yes, to answer your question, I felt the same profound sense of exhilaration with your mother that I did with you that night. Just different in terms of romantic affection, of course.”

My heart sped up as I thought of another question, one I had contemplated for a long time, but that had been put off by my parents when I was a preteen. They had said, “We’ll talk about it when you’re older.” I had aged sufficiently by this point, I thought. Next year I would be Choosing, and--

_Don’t let the thoughts spiral. Just say it._

“Did either of you have a hard time Choosing?” I blurted out. “Am I old enough to know?”

His eyes snapped immediately to my face and stayed there, presumably analyzing my emotional stability at that moment. He then averted his eyes, nodding. “I suppose you are old enough,” he replied.

My heart practically skipped a beat as my gaze intensified, ready to absorb the story I knew was coming.

“Let’s go outside and sit down,” my dad said lightly. To my mind, that was as good of an answer as any. My parents’ choice hadn’t been simple-- if they had known without a doubt they were going to Erudite, my dad would have just said so. I had my suspicions about both of my parents’ aptitudes, but I kept quiet for now.

The two of us sank down onto the sofa, and his eyes became unfocused in a way I’d rarely seen them before, reliving the past.

“You know my parents,” he began. “They expected all of us-- Aunt Kristen, myself, and Aunt Chantelle, who, as you know, were less than three years apart-- to choose Erudite without hesitation. I’m sure my father wouldn’t have minded if I had chosen Dauntless, where he’d come from, but he didn’t dare voice such musings in front of my mother.”

I nodded in complete understanding. My other set of grandparents were just as content with being Erudite as the Coreys were with being Candor. My grandmother had a knack for slipping in references to her last name, Ellis. The Ellis family had remained part of Erudite since the time of Amanda Ritter, who had led the first successful nuclear fusion electricity experiment. My grandmother’s pride was the reason for my middle name.

Grandpa Rushton had insisted she take his name if she truly loved him. It was a testament to her affection that she, an Ellis, acquiesced, and my grandpa was nearly as proud of himself as my grandma was of her last name.

“You also know,” my dad continued, “that we didn’t take the aptitude test, as Jeanine had not yet invented it. We had Faction Fairs, where representatives from each faction set up in the school cafeteria, and we could look at their presentations, ask them questions, or even set up a private appointment.

At the Faction Fair, which wasn’t the day before the Choosing, by the way… I was almost hard-set on choosing… Candor.”

My mouth dropped open for a second, but then I quickly closed it, nodding. To be quite honest, I had suspected as much, and the surprise only came from my long-ingrained habit of steering clear of discussing other factions at length. As a teenager, I sometimes avoided my dad because he possessed a habit of making brutally honest statements, even if they were rather unpleasant. It was part of the reason why I confided more of my emotional troubles in my mother. 

“But I had already met your mother, and since inter-faction teenage relationships were more accepted back then… Everyone at school knew we were dating. They knew it was going to endure, too. It was not any type of hookup or clout relationship.”

Then the last event I expected to happen occurred. Tears started to leak into my dad’s eyes, and he sniffled. But I saw the look on his face… pure dream, pure happiness.

“Your mother ran up to me that day, bright red in the face, and told me how excited she was to transfer to Erudite. How she had talked to a journalist there, and the interaction had affirmed her desire. How, as much as she loved your grandparents, she was ready to be challenged, and be free…”

I found my own heartbeat slowing down as I visualized my mother, younger and containing no trace of the exhaustion of the woman in the adjoining room, smiling with Amity-like joy at the prospect of Erudite.

I knew that smile all too well. Only when it turned into anguish did I acknowledge my inner torpor.

“Then she apologized, said she should have asked me where I wanted to go. As Candor as I am, Alia…” he lowered his voice. “I never told her. I told her I was ready to be with her. Plus, journalism had always been the most attractive department in this faction to me. I just needed to pass the math portion of initiation, and I could make a life for myself not so focused on my mathematical weakness.”

Somehow, a single tear escaped from my eye as well. It was a truly heartfelt story, not clinical or flighty as many faction decisions turned out to be. He had chosen her above his personal aptitude. A question came into my head, but thankfully, he responded before I could voice it.  
“I never think about a potential life in Candor,” he reassured me. “Yes, it might have been nice to escape my parents, who obviously believed my choice aligned with the ‘perfect’ way in which they had raised me. But their presence was a small price to pay for your mother’s. I can’t imagine being anywhere else.”

I smiled at him. “Thank you for telling your story,” I said quietly, aware of the seriousness of this moment.

“Of course,” he said, then, “remember, the choice hardly determines your entire path. Life has a way of doing what it wants, regardless of your choice. But I don’t know why I’m saying this to you-- I know what you will choose.” 

Admittedly, that hurt. Anyone who truly understood the terrors and depths of my anxiety would know I possessed insecurity about remaining here, even though it was the most logical choice. But my father, while incredibly supportive, tended to jump in with his own opinions regardless of mine. Just like the Corey grandparents. It was something one got used to.

“Yes, but I appreciate you sharing anyway,” I say, and smile, most traces of my earlier crying gone. For now.

\----

_A few weeks later_

The car hummed along on the road, my mom in the seat next to me. For once, she was smiling-- a bit of time off work was doing her good. The two of us had agreed to see a historical movie at the inter-faction theatre complex, near Candor. Unfortunately, I still had plenty of homework to do after the movie was over. As Dr. Thompson always said, the best students studied anywhere and everywhere. So study I did, mentally, while we rode to the theatre.

_If a=b, the graph is a cardioid. For example, r= 5-5cosx.  
If a>b, the graph is a limacon without an inner loop. r= 5+4cosx.  
_

__

__

Moving through these basic steps in seconds, I started mentally calculating the intercepts of the first example equation. Mental math was more prone to errors, but it served as great practice-- when I sat down with paper, the problem became simple, straightforward in a way it wouldn’t have without the extra practice. 

Over the concentration of my own thoughts, I vaguely heard my mom ask the car to turn on the weather station. A beat later, a familiar, pleasant voice interrupted my mental math: 

“This is the official station of the Chicago Erudite Weather Service, operating on frequency 163.72 megahertz. This station originates from the Department of Meteorology and is transmitted through the Central Administrative Building. For more detailed aviation and automotive forecasts, please tune to 164.26 megahertz. Thank you.” 

This announcement was followed by a familiar, short musical tone and introduction to the latest forecast. I stared out the window blankly and dismissed my mental math, feeling just as neutral as the pattern of stratus clouds above me. I suppose I shouldn’t have complained-- this light gloominess was preferable to an opaque day. 

“Greetings, everyone,” said an authoritative voice from the station. “I’m Lena Stadler with this week’s forecast. You all will be pleased to know that this is a fairly transparent and clear week. We’ll have this current outside low-pressure system clearing by around 8 PM tonight, to be replaced with a good deal of sun through tomorrow…” 

My mother turned her lips up approvingly at the rest of the report. “I suppose the crops are doing well; no need for much rain this week. And thank goodness we don’t have so many opaque days…” 

I nodded in agreement. No one in the city particularly liked opaque days, those during which our dome’s clear top was blocked by protective material in order to cut us off from stormy skies and unneeded solar radiation. They were our reminder that going outside of a building meant one was still, technically, inside-- inside the protection we all had come to rely on after the worst of the climate crisis. 

Not quite as hated, but still disliked, were rainy days, as only Amity children had been taught to venerate the water that made their crops grow. Most others took it for granted, cursing Erudite and Amity for their ‘bad timing’ as they arranged for rain to fall from the top of the dome. I knew better. I had researched, read, watched what droughts could do, what was lost to people at the mercy of the planet’s atmosphere. 

To me, my faction’s meteorologists, those who controlled and maintained our optimal weather conditions, seemed to dwarf superheroes with their power. 

“Temperatures will remain consistent throughout the week, in the mid- to upper-70s,” Ms. Stadler finishes off. “And that is all for the internal forecast. Turning to our transportation forecast…” 

Normally, my mother would have turned the station off by now, but she seemed to be too lost in her own thoughts to do so. It was characteristic of our family to surrender ourselves to our minds; we often emerged with insights that we would not have otherwise gained. Today, though, I sat at attention, always curious to hear the natural outside weather, beast that it was. 

“I’m afraid to say that this week will be quite scorching for the few of you outside our walls. The lowest high will occur on Wednesday… 105 degrees. It will also be a very sunny week; the UV index will remain at 8 for the foreseeable future, so there will be quite a few protection checks. Luckily, for those of you caught near the F4 tornado system last week, no such event is slated to occur…” 

I shook my head, grateful I would not have to withstand such inhumane conditions. It was June, one of the hottest months of the summer season, or so we were taught at school. Personally, I couldn’t have imagined structuring my life around seasons, buying seasonal clothes and rotating activities as our ancestors did. 

I was an overthinker at heart, especially when it came to academic achievement, but one aspect of life I never had to overthink was our city’s climate control. We were some of the luckiest humans to ever walk the surface of this planet, able to regulate our health and food production at all times. We had a nearly unlimited supply of fusion energy that could keep us safe day and night, unlike more primitive forms of wind and solar power. We were freed from the erratic and dangerous outside climate the ancestors left behind, only needing to withstand it for transport purposes. 

No other faction would ever admit it, but due to controlling our weather, Erudite was by far the most vital faction to us all. 

Thus, I was rather startled when the question that had been pulling at my mind for weeks came out, tearing through Lena’s voice and my reflections: 

“Mom....  
Could you picture me in another faction?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Explaining worldbuilding is hard! I have a feeling future me will be coming back to edit these first few chapters quite a bit!
> 
> I’ll have another chapter up sooner than the wait for this one!
> 
> Please follow/fav/review if you have the time :)


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